


The Truth Will Always Be

by ekwtsm



Category: The Streets of San Francisco
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekwtsm/pseuds/ekwtsm
Summary: A prolonged separation takes its toll on the partners - and threatens to change their relationship forever.





	1. Chapter 1

"So, are we ready?" Assistant District Attorney Gerald O'Brien was sitting on the edge of his desk, staring at the occupant of one of his visitors chairs.

San Francisco Police Inspector Steve Keller let out a tired sigh and nodded. "Yeah," he said confidently. They had just gone over his upcoming testimony for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

O'Brien nodded back. "Good. So," he continued, standing to address the other occupants of the room, "Steve will probably take the stand either late morning or early afternoon, whenever Lassiter's finished with Mendez. But I'll need him here at 10 a.m. sharp just in case Lassiter wraps up faster than expected. Okay?"

Sergeants Nick Burke and Luca Ianello nodded. Both men, veterans assigned to the D.A.'s office, knew their jobs thoroughly, and were well aware of the seriousness of their present assignment. They were also acutely aware of the stare from two blue eyes which bored into them from across the desk. Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone had been sitting silently in O'Brien's chair through the entire meeting.

Ianello squirmed where he was standing and shot a brief, furtive glance in the Lieutenant's direction. Steve saw the look and followed it, unable to suppress a smile at his partner's oh-so-familiar glare. He barely stifled an inappropriate chuckle as he got to his feet.

Mike followed, his eyes traveling from the two sergeants to his partner. "You," he pointed at Steve, "you get some sleep. You two," the accusing finger changed direction, "I want to see you both yawning and bleary-eyed."

O'Brien laughed and Steve snapped a crisp though whimsical salute. Burke and Ianello, still unsure of their status in the eyes of the Lieutenant, answered in unison. "Yes, sir."

"Come on, Papa Bear," said O'Brien, slapping Mike's shoulder as he crossed behind his desk and began packing up his papers and files, "you can drive me home. You three better get back to the hotel."

Steve's very audible sigh underscored his annoyance. He chafed under the necessity of his sequestration in a downtown hotel, but because of the nature of this trial, heightened security was now the norm. He turned back at the door to face his partner. His frustrated gaze met the older man's concerned one. Steve nodded slightly and smiled. Mike returned the nod but there was no smile. "See you tomorrow," he said quietly as Ianello opened the door and preceded the small group into the hallway.

Mike continued to stare at the door after it was closed and O'Brien could hear his sigh. He glanced up from straightening his desk.

"He'll be okay. Burke and Ianello know what they're doing."

"I know," came the unconvinced reply.

# # # # #

Steve glanced at his watch for the fiftieth time that morning. 11:55. He was in a small room in the courthouse building with Ianello. They had been waiting for almost two hours since the sergeants had delivered him, on time, to O'Brien's office.

"Doesn't look like I'm gonna get on the stand before lunch," he grumbled, idly flipping the pages of the Time magazine in his hands. His coat was flung over the back of an empty chair and his tie was loosened.

"Yeah, well, the minute you get off the stand for good, my paycheque's gonna suffer, so they can take their sweet time as far as I'm concerned," Ianello chuckled. He and Burke were making good coin 'babysitting' the inspector 24 hours a day for the past two weeks. The second team, Sergeants Donovan and Carter, had the day off but would be back on duty when the trial adjourned for the day.

"I'll take my time," Steve smiled.

"Yeah right." He knew how anxious Steve was to get all this over with and get back to his job and his life.

There was a discreet knock on the door and Ianello got up to answer it. Steve heard Burke's voice. "Luca, O'Brien wants to see you."

Burke stepped into the room as Ianello exited, and immediately Steve sensed that something was amiss. "What's going on?"

"Hmmm?" Burke seemed to pull his thoughts together. "Oh, nothing. Lassiter's being a pain the ass and taking his time so O'Brien doesn't think you're going to get on the stand today. Everyone's pretty frustrated," he said with a 'that's-all-it-is' kind of shrug.

Steve was unconvinced but decided to keep his doubts to himself.

"O'Brien wants to know what you want for lunch? The usual?"

Steve's entire body sagged, the frustration writ large. Angry eyes met Burke's understanding ones, and he tempered his words with a mirthless chuckle. "Why don't we shake things up a little - how about a Cobb and a coffee for a change?" Steve dropped his gaze to the floor and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "So if I don't get on the stand today, we gotta wait till Monday at the earliest? Shit"

"Yeah." Burke still seemed distracted.

Steve looked at the older man. "What's going on?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

"Oh, just everyone getting frustrated with the delays - it's starting to make everybody moody and snappy."

"Yeah, I hear ya."

The day continued to drag and not even the delicious lunch could do anything to lighten the mood. Steve stretched out on the couch and took a nap, a habit he'd picked up from Mike and one he'd come to appreciate.

But by 4 p.m., Ianello replacing Burke, Steve had had enough. "This is getting ridiculous," he growled as he rose and started to pace the room. "Can we at least go back to the hotel? We're obviously not going anywhere today."

Steve caught Ianello's quick glance at the door before he said, apologetically, "They've asked us to stay -"

Steve cut him off. "Luca, what the hell is going on?" His tone brokered no resistance.

"Look, I can't say anything. We've been told -"

The door opened and, as both men turned towards it, a flicker of relief passed over the sergeant's face.

Assistant DA Gerald O'Brien, Chief of Detectives Rudy Olsen and Captain Roy Devitt stepped into the room, Devitt closing the door behind him.

Steve looked surprised. "Chief, Roy…what's…?"

Olsen put up a hand and gestured for Steve to wait. "Sit down," he said gently.

Steve glanced at everyone in the room but couldn't get a reading from the serious faces. "What's going on?" he asked again as he sank slowly into a chair.

Devitt pulled a chair over in front of the young man and sat. He sighed heavily as he leaned forward. "Steve," he said quietly, "we can't find Mike."


	2. Chapter 2

"What?" Steve wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

Devitt took another deep breath. "We can't find Mike," he repeated.

Steve cocked his head, as if he didn't understand the answer. "What do you mean you - "

"He didn't show up today and nobody's seen him," Devitt interrupted.

Steve's eyes snapped to O'Brien but the D.A. had anticipated the question. "Yes, he drove me home last night. He dropped me off, drove away and that's the last anybody's seen of him."

Steve looked back at Devitt.

"We found his car in front of his house but there's no sign he ever went in. Yesterday's mail's still in the box and both yesterday's and today's morning papers are on the stoop. There's no sign of a struggle, nothing. We got into the house - "

"How?" Steve knew that, other than Jeannie, he had the only extra key.

"We called a locksmith," Devitt said, adding quickly, "Don't worry. We didn't break his door in." He almost smiled. "I knew you had a key but we didn't want to tip our hand and alarm you if all this was just a mistake. But as I was saying, there was no sign that he ever even entered the house. From the car to the door, he just...vanished."

Steve was trying to process all the information. "It doesn't make any sense."

Devitt continued, "When he didn't show up here by 11, I had someone call the shop but they said he wasn't in - they all thought he'd just come straight here. I called his house but there was no answer. So I sent a black & white over there and got a message to Gerry."

O'Brien took over the story. "I asked for an early lunch while we waited to hear from the patrol cops. When they radioed in that Mike's car was there and about the papers and mail, we knew something was up."

"I called the locksmith right away and he was there by the time I got there - and the rest you know," Devitt filled in.

"We decided to keep it quiet until we could figure out what's going on." O'Brien continued, "but I had to bring Judge Roberts up to speed. I even thought of bringing Lassiter into the loop. In his heart of hearts, he's a decent guy, even if he is a defence attorney, and he likes Mike, but I am loathe to possibly, down the road, give him ammunition to have a mistrial declared.

"I used everything in my own arsenal to slow down his cross of Mendez, with Judge Roberts' indulgence. I managed to buy us some time, but I'm sure half the jury thinks I'm a jerk," O'Brien smiled then turned sober again. "Roberts adjourned early so we have the weekend, but to be honest, Steve, we're at a loss."

Steve had been sitting in stunned silence, one hand over his mouth, eyes riveted on each speaker. Now his hand traveled up across his face and through his hair, a gesture with which they were all familiar. He cleared his throat. "Do you think it's Cassidy?"

"Right now we don't know what to think. We've got guys from both our side and the D.A.'s office going back over his record with a fine-tooth comb to see if there's been anything like this in the past. We know he's intimidated witnesses before, that's why we have you under lock-and-key, but going so far as to kidnap a cop...?" offered Devitt.

"So what do we do, wait? I'm not gonna wait. Let me talk to him." Steve was in motion, almost vaulting off the sofa towards the door.

Devitt grabbed his arm and both Ianello and Burke stepped between the younger man and the exit.  
"You're not going anywhere and that's an order, Inspector." Rudy Olsen spoke for the first time since they'd entered the room. "Nobody's knows what's going on other than those of us in this room and Judge Roberts, and it's going to stay that way for now. Until we can figure out what's going on, it's business as usual.

"Now we have the weekend and we're going to take advantage of that time - we're cops after all and locating missing persons is something that we do. We have people on the streets keeping their ears to the ground and talking, in vague terms, to CI's. Nobody has been told it's Mike - just that we're missing an anonymous undercover.

"We have people here at the courthouse, at the D.A.'s office and at Homicide who'll notify us immediately if a call comes in - and right now I think that's what we all have to hope for. Because if somebody took him, they're good, 'cause so far we can't find a trace."

While Olsen spoke, Steve sat back down again and Devitt released his grip on the young man's arm. Steve rubbed his hands over his face then pounded his left knee with his fist. "This can't be happening," he whispered.

Devitt sat and leaned forward. "Steve….Jeannie…do you think we should call her?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet. She can't know about this right now. I mean, if Mike had the wherewithal to call her, he'da called me, or she would've. And if they're trying to get to me through Mike, well, they've done that, haven't they? They don't need to go any further."

What he said made sense, so Devitt only nodded and sat back.

There was a deepening silence in the room as everyone came to grips with the reality of the situation, or tried to imagine how Steve felt.

"So," Steve said finally, after he realized the older men were deferring to him at the moment, "what do we do?"

"Well," said Olsen slowly, "I hate to admit it but there's nothing we can do right now that we're not already doing. We're gonna have to wait till they contact us."

"And Cassidy?"

"I'm gonna be meeting with Judge Roberts again in a few minutes to discuss options. I'll feel him out about a continuance, " explained O'Brien. "And as far as confronting Cassidy directly, if he's behind all this we're just playing into his hands if he knows how desperate we are. I think we just wait until Monday and if nothing happens before then, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'"

Olsen looked at the others. "Right now, I want you two," indicating Burke and Ianello, " to get him back to the hotel. You're gonna have to fill in Donovan and Carter. The four of you do whatever you need to do to make sure Steve isn't alone for even one minute, understood?" The two sergeants nodded.

Olsen turned to the inspector. "Steve, I know this isn't what you want to do but sitting tight for the next couple of days, or until we find out anything more, is all you can do. Let us handle it right now, okay? You still have the trial to consider. So until we know for sure whether Cassidy is involved in this or not, it'll be business as usual."

As hard as it was to admit it, Steve knew Olsen was right. He nodded reluctantly then glanced towards Burke and Ianello. "Let's get out of here."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve sat on the hotel bed surrounded by magazines and newspapers. A self-confessed news junkie, until today they had been his saving grace - keeping him connected to the outside world during his isolation. Now they were neglected. He'd barely moved since he'd sat down, and as the sun began to set and the room darken, he didn't seem to notice.

But as still as his body was, his mind was racing - going over every possibility, every scenario that could explain his partner's disappearance. The knot of fear in his stomach grew tighter and tighter. One thought kept returning - that Mike's abduction (and Steve was convinced that that was what happened) was tied to his upcoming testimony. It had to be. They would find out that Mike's release would be dependent upon Steve's change of testimony.

There was a soft knock on the door and he looked up. "Yeah?" he called out.

"Steve, it's me," Burke called back.

Steve crossed to the door, not even bothering with the peephole before opening it. Burke winced at the lack of caution but chose to ignore it. He knew Steve was desperate for news of any kind. And he had nothing. "Look, ah, it's almost eight. You want to call down to room service or you want me to go get you something?"

Burke and Ianello should have been relieved by Donovan and Carter hours ago, but both men asked to stay on till the end of the day. They had begun to feel a paternal concern for this young man who suddenly seemed to have the weight of the world thrust onto his shoulders.

Steve shook his head. "No, I…ah…I don't feel like eating. I'm okay." He started to shut the door but Burke put out a hand to stop him. He wasn't going to plead but he wasn't going to give up.

"Look, we'll get you a gyro and put it in your mini-fridge. That way you don't have to eat it right now - and if you feel hungry during the night..."

Steve appreciated the gesture. He nodded. "Sure, thanks."

"Good. Ah, anything special on it…mayo, mustard?"

"Surprise me," Steve answered without enthusiasm.

Burke chuckled dryly. "You got it." He began to leave, then turned back. "You know the second we hear anything…" He left it hanging.

Steve nodded. "I know. Thanks." He closed the door.

But there was nothing. All through the night and the next day, not a word.

Donovan and Carter were Saturday's point men, and they were feeling as helpless and useless as Burke and Ianello. As the hours wore on, every phone call, every knock on a door ratcheted up the anxiety. But still nothing.

Steve stayed in the hotel room, talking to no one. Carter had breakfast room service brought up and took the tray in himself, but he had no idea if the inspector even touched the food.

Late Saturday night Devitt called Steve's room, but other than a "Hang in there, something's gonna break," feeble pep-talk, both men ended the brief conversation depressed and defeated.  
Anger wasn't even an issue. Until there was some proof that Cassidy's cronies had anything to do with Mike's disappearance, any anger would be misplaced and counter-productive. Frustration was slowly turning into despair.

Late Sunday afternoon, there was a knock on Steve's hotel room door. He bolted from the chair to open it. Devitt's hands-up gesture told him immediately that nothing new had been learned. As Steve turned back into the room, Devitt entered, followed by Olsen and O'Brien. Devitt noted with concern the untouched room service tray on the dresser.

Steve sat on the bed while the Chief and District Attorney took the chairs. Devitt perched on the edge of the desk. At first no one spoke, all acutely aware of why they were there. Then O'Brien broke the ice. He cleared his throat. "Steve, as you know, court's back in session tomorrow at 10 and you're first up. So, before all that happens, we have to talk this through." He looked at Olsen, as if passing the ball.

Olsen was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, staring at the carpet. He raised his head slowly and met Steve's eyes. He started quietly. "Until we have proof to the contrary, we have to go with the assumption that Cassidy's men are behind this - whether he denies it or not. It may be the only way they could think of to get to you, to shut you up."

Steve met Olsen's stare evenly, emotionless.

"The fact that we haven't heard from anyone, that's troubling. It could mean a lot of things, but we're thinking it's one of two. That they think their silence will so unnerve you that you 'revisit' your testimony and they win an acquittal…or something went horribly wrong and they no longer have Mike as a bargaining chip." This last was said so softly it was almost a whisper.

Hearing those words aloud, the first time anyone had given voice to that possibility, sent a shutter through the room.

"We've got everyone working on this. They don't know it's Mike but I'm sure some of the guys are getting suspicious. No one's seem him since Thursday. But officially, we're just asking everybody to keep their eyes and ears open. We're doing everything we can - short of confronting Cassidy directly. And we're not about to do that yet."

O'Brien took over. "I'm going to approach the bench tomorrow and ask for a continuance. I don't know what he'll give me, if anything, but I'm going to ask for a month. It's not unreasonable and Roberts should agree to it."

"That'll buy us some more time," Olsen continued, "and if need be, we'll go after Cassidy."

Steve had taken it all in without a word. He spoke for the first time. "I'm not staying here for another month." It wasn't a plea, it was a statement.

Devitt, sitting on the desk with his arms crossed, eyes down, raised his head quickly. "You won't," he said with authority, then glanced quickly at Olsen before continuing. "We've talked about this. If Cassidy has Mike, to get you to shut up, he has what he wants. He really doesn't need you anymore - and going after you so blatantly would be a dumb move for him at this point."

Olsen nodded. "You'll be free to go home or wherever you want to go - but Steve, I have to warn you, if you in any way try to get in touch with Cassidy or his people, I'll put your ass in jail for obstructing justice. You have to let us handle it without you. There's just too much at stake here." Olsen's words brooked no argument.

And although Steve bristled, he met his superior's hard stare evenly, and eventually nodded. He knew these men cared for Mike almost as much as he did, and they were just as invested in getting him home safely. "What can I do?"

"We can use you in the office," said Devitt. "You can help us coordinate everything. We're not telling you you can't work on this - you just have to stay in the office. Agreed?"

At least they weren't shutting him out completely, Steve thought, and nodded at Devitt. "Thanks."

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. O'Brien glanced around the room, looking for something to help break the gloom. He, too, noticed the untouched room service tray.

"Look," he said suddenly, a little louder than intended, making the others start slightly, "we've got Carter and Donovan outside the door and the three of us - I think Steve's pretty safe right now. Why don't we go downstairs and have dinner in the restaurant? I hear it's pretty good. And the D.A.'s office'll foot the bill - business expense."

All eyes went to Steve, who began to shake his head. But Devitt quickly stepped forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. "I won't take 'no' for an answer," he growled.

Steve found himself unable to resist. He didn't seem to have much of a choice - but if he was to be totally honest, getting out of that claustrophobic room was exactly what he needed.

Six very quiet, well-dressed men stood out in a restaurant filled with casually dressed tourists and senior 'early birders'. Occasionally one of them would attempt to start a conversation but it always quickly petered out. The elephant in the room was just too big.

Steve ate surprisingly more than he had anticipated. His self-imposed fast had taken a toll on his ability to concentrate, and he was relieved to find himself getting stronger and sharper. As the dinner progressed, he finally broached the topic they all knew had to be addressed at some point.

He looked at the D.A. sitting across the table. "Gerry, so, we get this continuance tomorrow morning - a month. We haven't been able to find anything out or get anything resembling a lead in the past 48 hours, right?" He turned to Devitt and Olsen for confirmation and received reluctant nods. "So what happens if, after that month, we still come up with nothing? The trial has to resume - it can't be postponed forever. Then what happens?"

O'Brien looked uncomfortably around the table. Only Olsen met his eyes. "As you know," he began carefully, "the biggest part of my case is your eyewitness testimony. Screw that, it's basically all my case. Without it, I have nothing really." He hesitated. "If," he said slowly, "if his boys have Mike and are counting on your silence, and if you choose not to testify and Cassidy walks, we could get Mike back." He tread softly. "If you testify..."

In the lengthening silence, Steve whispered, "I may never see him again."

No one looked at each other as the powerful words sunk in.

"A month is a long time," Olsen said finally, firmly. "We have a lot of resources on our side and I can ask for more. We've already notified police departments across the country and I'm making inquiries with Interpol. We're not going to give up."

There was a discreet "ahem" near their table and the waiter asked quietly, "Excuse me, gentlemen, could I get everyone a coffee?"

The interruption broke the mood. They all nodded and the waiter quietly departed.

In the silence, Carter decided to delicately change the subject. "The Giants pitchers and catchers start their training camp next week. What do you think their chances are now that McCovey's gone?" he asked the table, and the others, grateful for the reprieve, jumped at the chance to talk baseball.  
Even Steve eventually joined the discussion as the six officers let themselves get caught up in something other than the drama foremost in their thoughts.

But as Devitt and Donovan debated the pros and cons of the Giants potential starting line-up, Steve fell silent once more. As the dinner talk was winding down and O'Brien finished paying the bill, he perked up.

"Gentlemen," he said, glancing around the table, "I have an idea."


	4. Chapter 4

Everyone was present in the courtroom the next morning at 10 a.m. when the Assistant District Attorney asked to approach the bench. The request came as no surprise to anyone.

O'Brien presented Judge Roberts with the required paperwork. It was given a quick but thorough once-over then Roberts peered over his glasses at the defence table. "Mr. Lassiter, do you have any objections to this continuance?" he asked.

Lassiter shook his head. "No, sir. In fact, we welcome it."

O'Brien shot him a quick, almost angry look, but Lassiter just smiled, the picture of cooperation.

"Very well. You may return to you seat, Mr. O'Brien." Roberts shuffled the papers, stared at his calendar and picked up his gavel. "This court is now in recess and will reconvene in this courtroom on Monday, April 15th at 10 a.m."

"Your Honour," Lassiter interrupted, standing at his seat, "request continuance of my client's bail."

"Any objections, Mr. O'Brien?" The D.A. shook his head. "Very well. Bail continuance granted."

And with the bang of the gavel, the trial was suspended.

There was a buzz throughout the courtroom as everybody rose. Cassidy stood almost grandly, grinning at his lawyer as he nonchalantly buttoned the jacket of his bespoke charcoal gray suit and smoothed back his short blond hair. He looked every inch the confident, stylish high-roller that he was. His oily gaze circled the room, settling nowhere, not even when it ever so briefly met the defiantly angry eyes of Steve Keller.

Cassidy and Lassiter moved away from the table and started up the aisle. Steve made a move to intercept but a hand on his arm brought him to a halt.

"Remember what Olsen told you," Devitt said quietly but firmly. "Come on, let's get to the office."

As the detectives stepped into the aisle to follow the others leaving the courtroom, the little byplay was not lost on a stocky, gray-haired man standing near the front railing. He paused, puzzled, slipped a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and made a quick notation. Satisfied, he returned the book and pen to his pocket and left the courtroom.

Following Devitt, Steve walked into the Homicide office for the first time in almost three weeks. He was greeted warmly by his colleagues but no one was overly enthusiastic. Rumours and speculation had been running rife and their trained eyes scoured the young inspector for any sign as to what, actually, was going on.

As Steve took off his jacket and began to sling it over the back of his chair, his eyes shifted automatically to Mike's office and he froze momentarily. The flinch was not lost on his colleagues and a few exchanged worried glances.

Devitt caught their looks and said quickly, "Come on, Olsen's waiting for us."

Aware that he had been caught out, Steve nodded and gratefully followed the Captain from the room.

An hour later, O'Brien, Olsen, Devitt and Steve faced the full contingent of Homicide detectives in the 'bull pen'. The room was preternaturally quiet as Olsen cleared his throat and began. "As all of you are aware, I'm sure, there's been a hell of a lot happening this past weekend and none of it good. This department, and especially this squad, is probably facing one of its biggest challenges right now. And every one of you is going to play an important role in meeting that challenge."

Olsen glanced at O'Brien who, with a lawyer's easy facility with words, encapsulated the events of the past four days. While the gist of the events was known to most through conjecture and supposition, details were filled in by Devitt and major theories presented by Olsen.

Steve could feel sympathetic eyes on him throughout the dissertation, but they were quick glances, not penetrating stares, and for that he was grateful.

"Which comes to why we're here now," Devitt continued. "We've been given a month - let's hope it doesn't take that long - but this is what we're going to do.

"We know some people, particularly the press that's been covering the trial, are suspicious - so we're going to throw them a bone, to hopefully divert their attention. It's important that we don't tip our hand - to the public, of course but more importantly, to Cassidy and his side. The worst possible scenario in all this is that a mistrial is declared and this starts all over again - this could be dragged on for years. So we've come up with a cover story, so to speak."

Devitt paused and took a deep breath. "We're going to release the information that Mike has had a stroke and he's in ICU at Franklin." There were a few stifled gasps and once more eyes snapped to Steve. And though this was his own idea, every time he heard those words, it felt like a small cold hand had grabbed his heart.

"It's not beyond the realm of possibility," Devitt continued, "and it gives some of us, and Steve especially, an excuse to be away from the office for long periods of time.

"Chief Olsen has arranged with the administration at Franklin to give us a small, vacant office to use as a command centre. I'm gonna be heading up a small task force - myself, Steve and the four sergeants from the D.A.'s office - and all we're gonna do is work on Mike's case."

Olsen picked up his cue. "It's imperative that everyone is on board with this and that secrecy is a must. Mike's life could very well depend on what we do here in the next days or, hopefully not, weeks.

"We're starting from a disadvantageous position - we know nothing right now and we have no clues. It's obviously not going to be easy - but one way or another, it's gonna get done.

"So, the bottom line is, while Captain Devitt, Steve and the others concentrate on finding Mike, the rest of you continue with your normal routines - but with one ear to the ground at all times. Somebody out there knows something and it's only going to be a matter of time till word gets to us. Be vigilant, be circumspect, be optimistic - and we'll bring Mike home safe and sound. Agreed?"

There were murmured assents and silent nods.

Olsen got to his feet. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, back to work."

As the group began to disperse, Steve looked up from his heretofore examination of the squad room floor and turned to Olsen and Devitt. He addressed his immediate superior. "Roy, I want a couple of days off."

Devitt nodded. "Sure, of course," he said, the request not unexpected. "Take all the time you need."

"I just need a few days. I have to go to Arizona."


	5. Chapter 5

Steve stretched the drive to two days, staying overnight in a small nondescript motel outside Phoenix. He needed the time to think - about Mike, about what had transpired over the past few days, and about what he was going to say to Mike's daughter.

The guilt was almost overwhelming. This wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for his involvement in the Cassidy murder trial - of that he was absolutely certain.

As he followed the Dean of Students down a corridor and around a corner, he knew the next few minutes were going to be amongst the most difficult of his young life. The second Jeannie saw him, Steve knew she'd imagine the worst and her world would crumble.

He knew he had to tell her, as quickly and precisely as possible, that it wasn't what she thought - that Mike wasn't dead or critically injured - but did he really know that? It wouldn't exactly be a lie, and it would get him beyond that first emotional reaction to his sudden appearance, so that he could carefully and calmly explain to her what was going on.

Jeannie was a smart and compassionate young woman who loved her father deeply. But she was also her father's daughter - direct, practical and level-headed.

That was what he was counting on as the Dean stopped before a lecture hall door and knocked, then entered the room, leaving the young inspector alone in the hallway with his thoughts.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath - this was not going to be easy.

The door re-opened and a smiling Jeannie preceded the Dean into the hallway. She was looking over her shoulder so at first didn't notice the other person in the corridor.

Her eyes found Steve's and for a split second her face broke into a wide-eyed, happy smile - which almost instantaneously turned into shock and fear.

"No," began to escape her lips but Steve was already shaking his head, stepping towards her and grabbing her shoulders.

"It's not what you think, Jeannie, it's not what you think," he said over and over until his words sank in and he felt her relax slightly.

"Then what is it? Is Mike okay?"

As he continued to hold Jeannie's arms and stare unflinchingly into her eyes, he quickly sketched out in broad strokes the ordeal of the past five days. She listened silently until he had finished.

"What do you think happened to him?" Her voice was small and almost child-like.

Steve shook his head. "God, Jeannie, I wish I knew. Look, let's go grab a cup of coffee and I can get into more detail. Then we're going to your apartment, get some of your things, and go home. Alright?"

# # # # #

By the time the pair reached San Francisco late the next day, Jeannie was as well informed as possible and completely on board with the proposed scenario. In case anyone was watching, they headed straight to the hospital, something a distraught daughter would do.

Alerted by a phone call Steve had made from just outside the city, both Devitt and Olsen were in the small office-cum-command post on the hospital's third floor, which was also the level of the ICU.

"Jeannie, good to see you - wish it was under better circumstances," said Devitt as the young couple walked through the doorway. He had met Mike's daughter on a few 'police social' occasions and was always impressed by the young woman's poise and maturity.

"Thanks, Roy," she said as she shook his hand then turned to Olsen. "Uncle Rudy." She enveloped the older man in a hug.

Olsen and Mike had known each other for over two decades - and he had seen Jeannie grow from an energetic tomboy into this beautiful woman before him. She had started calling him 'Uncle Rudy' as a affectionate joke when she was 8 and the name had stuck.

Olsen pulled back so he could get a good look at her but kept his hands on her upper arms. "We'll get him back, Jeannie, I promise you," he said shakily.

She smiled encouragingly. "I know."

"So," Devitt started as the four found places to sit in the small office, "we've released the information about, ah, Mike's stroke." He glanced nervously at Jeannie but she didn't flinch. Steve caught both Devitt's glance and Jeannie's lack of response. 'Good girl', he thought.

"Haven't heard what the reaction is from Cassidy's camp but it'll be telling, I'm sure. And we caught a little bit of luck…well, luck for us, I guess, but not for… Anyway, Steve, I don't know if you know Bob Jennings over in Juvie, but his Dad suffered a mild stroke a few days ago and he's here at Franklin.

"Rudy talked to Bob and the family has agreed to let us put Mike's name on the ID box outside the door - to make our cover story look more authentic. Bob's Dad's going to be okay, so we're not tempting fate here in any way…" Devitt trailed off, aware he was wading into dangerous waters.

Jeannie bailed him out. "What do you want me to do?" she asked Olsen.

"Well, I don't think it's going to be much of a stretch for you to play the worried daughter, and if they are watching all of us, the more time you spend here at Franklin, the better it will look. You might even be able to help us coordinate paperwork."

Devitt took over. "We'll introduce you to the other four members of our little team - they were Steve's bodyguards for awhile. The six of us are going to be spending all our time delving into the private lives of anyone in Cassidy's inner circle, his family, business associates - hell, people he's just had coffee with."

Jeannie looked at Steve then nodded. "All right, when do we start?"

Her question caught them a little by surprise. Her attitude and steadfastness, in light of such a difficult situation, was remarkable.

"Ah, right now, I guess," Olsen stammered, as Jeannie got to her feet and the others followed.

And for the first time in days, Steve allowed himself a little smile; the spirit of Mike Stone was back in his life.

Later that night, after a day of introductions, setting themselves up in the small office, but no progress on the case, Steve drove Jeannie home.

As the Porsche pulled to the curb, Steve noted with relief that the tan Ford sedan Mike had been driving was no longer there. "Do you want me to come in?" he asked as Jeannie opened the passenger side door. She had already fished her keys out of her purse.

She met his gaze directly and shook her head. "No, thanks…I want to do this on my own. Besides, you haven't been home yourself for a few weeks."

Steve nodded. 'I may not have been home but I've certainly been alone,' he thought. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 8," he said, knowing that it would be difficult, but somehow comforting, to once again get into the routine of stopping by this Potrero house to pick up a Stone.

"I'll be waiting." Jeannie leaned across the seat and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Steve." She stared into his eyes for several seconds, trying to convey everything she felt - her fear and worry but mostly her gratitude.

The loyalty and love this young man had for her father sometimes overwhelmed her. "Try to get some sleep."

Steve smiled, hearing her father's voice in her words. "You too." He waited till Jeannie took her bag from behind the passenger seat, climbed the stairs and opened the front door before pulling away.

Jeannie pushed the heavy front door open then took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold. Ever since she left for college, she had always come home in Mike's company. Entering the house alone felt strange and sad.

She turned on the hall light, absorbing the silence for a few moments before climbing the stairs. Her bedroom was to the right at the top of the stairs. She opened the door, placed her bag inside then walked down the hall to her father's room.

The door was open and she stood in the hallway for a few seconds before entering. As always, she marvelled at the sight.

Mike Stone's years in the Marines had served him in good stead. The room was immaculate - the bed neatly made, the bureau tidy, no dirty clothes lying around. She had never known him to leave a messy room behind - even when he had to leave at a seemingly moment's notice.

She walked to the bed and sat, remembering the hours she had spent in here with her parents - snuggling under the covers with them on cold foggy mornings as a child, then reading to her cancer-stricken mother as a teenager. She reached out and pulled a pillow from beneath the bedspread, hugging it to her chest and inhaling deeply. The essence of her father was on that pillow and when she closed her eyes, she could see him standing before her.

"Daddy," she whimpered, like a lost little girl.

# # # # #

Steve climbed wearily up the short flights of stairs to his front door. He had only dropped in briefly to pack a bag before leaving for Tucson, so tonight would be the first time he would sleep in his own bed in almost a month. He dropped his bag near the door, walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a beer. He picked up the opener that lay on the counter where he had left it. He walked into the living room, sat on the sofa and opened the beer.

He was still there when the sun came up ten hours later.


	6. Chapter 6

The task force met again the following day, squeezing into the cramped office. It was decided that Devitt would work from his own office at the Hall of Justice and the sergeants from their desks in the D.A.'s office. Jeannie would use the Franklin room while Steve would divide his time between Franklin and Homicide.

Devitt would coordinate information gleaned from the streets, from CI's and from undercovers. The four sergeants concentrated on looking into the backgrounds, families and associates of anyone connected to Cassidy and his right-hand men. Even Cassidy's lawyer, Lassiter, was not above suspicion, although no one thought he was involved.

Steve would work on the assumption that Mike's disappearance might have nothing to do with Cassidy and may be connected to another case altogether. It was Devitt's way of insuring that Steve and Cassidy's paths had little reason to cross.

Burke and Ianello were assigned the task of vetting Cassidy and his immediate circle. And already they had something to report; unfortunately, it was information no one wanted to hear.

"We have a source pretty close in," said Ianello. "He happened to be there when Lassiter told Cassidy about Mike." He shrugged. "Nothing. No reaction at all that could have been taken for smugness or victory or a silent code between them that meant somethin' else. It was just mentioned in passing." He sounded almost apologetic.

"We even got a note of condolence from Lassiter," Devitt offered. He took a small card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Jeannie. "It seems genuine."

Jeannie opened the plain embossed card. There were no words on the front, just a drawing of a bouquet of flowers. Inside, in a flowing script, was written, "So very sorry to hear about Mike Stone - he's one of the good guys. Please wish him a speedy recovery for me - Dan Lassiter."

She handed the card to Steve as Devitt continued, "But that doesn't mean we don't keep working on the Cassidy angle. He could still be the puppet-master in all this."

But as the days slipped by, and nothing concrete was unearthed by anyone, the initial enthusiasm began to wane. And a creeping, almost paralyzing dread began to seep into their souls.

Though Steve continued to pick Jeannie up in the morning, drive her home at night, and occasionally share the office with her, their conversations became fewer and farther between. Each was coming to grips with the possibility that this might now be their new reality - that the life force that had so benevolently dominated their lives might no longer exist. Neither was ready to face that - at least not yet.

At the end of the second week, shortly after 10 in the morning, Steve entered the Franklin office just as the phone rang. Jeannie picked the receiver up, listened then handed it to Steve. "Keller."

"Steve." It was Devitt. "I just wanted to make sure you were there. Look, I'm coming over - there's something I want to talk to you and Jeannie about. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Twenty minutes later Devitt walked into the room. Steve hadn't told Jeannie that the captain wanted to talk - the brief conversation had left him uneasy and he didn't want to scare her. But he couldn't untie the knot in his own stomach.

Devitt asked them both to sit before he started. "About a half hour ago, I got a call from the Eureka Police Department." They all knew that Eureka was a small city further up the Pacific Coast in wine country. "They've found a body," he said quietly.

Jeannie gasped and reached out blindly towards Steve as she kept her eyes on Devitt. Steve grabbed her hand and held it.

"It's too badly decomposed for an immediate ID but it is that of an older man wearing a gray suit. That's all we know right now."

Steve exhaled slowly. "When…?"

"They're gonna let us know as soon as they do - they know what's going on down here. They have the phone numbers both here and at my office, and as soon as they know…"

Steve nodded. He knew it would take time and that everyone wanted to be absolutely certain one way or the other.

Jeannie's eyes were brimming with tears and she was biting her lip. Devitt faced her directly. "Jeannie, there's more than an excellent chance this isn't Mike - but we made a pact that we would tell each other everything that's going on - no one would be left out. I really debated telling you about this -"

"No, I'm glad you did, Roy. I have to know." With her free hand, she reached out and placed it over the captain's. "I appreciate your honesty. Thank you."

Throughout the afternoon they waited, mostly in silence. Jeannie tried to do some paperwork. Steve went over a couple of files had had brought with him. Devitt left the office occasionally to make a call. But everyone's eyes constantly flicked to the plain black phone sitting on the desk - wanting it to ring but afraid of the news it might deliver.

Just before five, Burke and Ianello turned up, Donovan and Carter not much later. They just wanted to be there, one way or the other. Not long after, Donovan volunteered to go for coffees. No one felt like eating. He walked to a restaurant down the street - hospital coffee just wouldn't cut it right now. He was coming back into the office when the phone rang. Everyone froze, all eyes snapping to the phone and then Devitt. 

Steve crossed to where Jeannie was sitting at the desk and took her hand. Donovan quickly closed the door and put the bags of coffees on the desk, wanting nothing in his hands.

Devitt got up from the chair where he had been reading a file and went to the desk. He hesitated a moment, unwittingly catching his breath before picking up the receiver. "Captain Devitt."

Every eye bored into his face, searching for the merest reaction. Devitt stared at the desk.

"Yes, thanks for calling… Yes… Yes…." His voice was calm, controlled, neutral. Then they all saw his body relax and he smiled slightly. "Really…Ah, yeah, that's - that's the best news for us. Thank you, thank you very much."

He looked at Jeannie and Steve and shook his head. Jeannie gasped and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes welling with happy tears. Steve squeezed her hand and released it, then ran both his hands through his hair. He turned to the others and was rewarded with four relieved smiles.

"Yes, yes…I will. Thank you. And thanks again for being so quick on this. Thanks again. Goodbye." Devitt hung up, sighed heavily and let his head hang for a few seconds, letting the tension drain away.

Donovan and Ianello were already reaching into the paper bags on the desk. "I think this calls for a coffee," said Donovan, as he began to hand out cups.

"So, do they know who it was?" asked Steve.

"As a matter of fact, they do. Some businessman from Sacramento - owned a used car lot. Seems he was under indictment for money laundering and fraud - it might have been a suicide," Devitt explained as he accepted the coffee and took the lid off the cup.

"Mike'll get a kick out of this - being mistaken for a used car salesman," chuckled Ianello as he held up his coffee in a toast.

The others nodded, raised their cups and took sips. Steve smiled - he knew Ianello had not used the future tense in error.

"Yeah, he will," he echoed, looking at Ianello with gratitude. The older man smiled back and winked.

Sadly, the euphoria felt after that heart-stopping episode didn't last long - and very soon once again their days brought them no news, no new leads, and no progress of any kind.

It became harder and harder to maintain any level of optimism. Steve started spending more time at the Hall and the four sergeants stopped by the Franklin office less often.

Then suddenly, before anyone seemed to notice, it was the Thursday before the trial was to resume.  
Steve had driven Jeannie home in silence then had gone home himself. Steering the Porsche to the curb in front of his apartment, he noticed a stocky, gray-haired older man sitting on the hood of a car half-way up the block.

As Steve got out of the Porsche, the other man slid off the hood and walked slowly towards him. Steve watched his approach - he knew him from somewhere, just couldn't place him right now.

"Shouldn't you be a little more careful," the older man said almost kindly. "I might be armed."

Steve's smile was mirthless and he snorted. "I really don't care right about now." He slammed the car door and started for the steps.

"You should," the man called after him. "Mike would want you to."

Steve stopped, froze, then turned.

"What?"

As the stranger walked towards the young cop, he reached into his jacket pocket, took out a business card and held it out.

Steve took the card and looked at it.

"I think we need to talk," said the stranger. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."


	7. Chapter 7

They were in the back booth of an all-night bar on Geary, one of the old watering holes only the locals knew about. The room was dark and quiet, only a few regulars silently manning the stools.

Phil Driscoll was an old-school newspaperman - the kind of journeyman reporter that was becoming all too scarce. Watergate had revived an interest in investigative journalism, but Driscoll cared little about that; he wasn't a 'journalist' - he was a reporter, and damn proud of it.

He had met Mike when they were both new to their respective professions, and over the years they had developed and maintained a healthy respect for one another. Theirs was not a friendship as such, just a relationship built on honesty and admiration - and a mutual dedication to uncovering the truth, no matter the consequences.

"Look, Steve … can I call you Steve?" Driscoll had asked gruffly as they stood on the sidewalk outside the apartment. Steve nodded warily. "I know what's going on. I know Mike's not in that hospital bed."

Steve stared impassively at older man, who continued carefully, well aware he was treading on thin ice. "I know about Cassidy and Lassiter … and the choices facing you when the trial resumes on Monday."

When the young man still failed to react, Driscoll said, "Look. Steve, I'm on your side with this. Mike and I go back a long way - in my own cynical writer's way, I really like the guy and he's been good to me over the years. I know this city will be a lot worse off if he's not in it.

"You need someone to talk to. Why not make it me?"

Steve finally looked away, glancing down at the car keys still in his hand, then back up at Driscoll. "Where?"

A half hour later they were sharing beers in the poorly-lit booth.

"Okay, so," Driscoll began when their drinks had been delivered, "I've told you what I know. I'm right, aren't I?"

Steve looked at him narrowly, still unsure just how much he could open up to this man. Then he nodded.

"So what's your game plan?"

"Why, so you can write about it? I can't let that happen -"

"I know, I know," Driscoll said quickly. "I'm not a rookie here, you know. I know Mike's life could on the line and if anything gets out to the public about him going missing and Cassidy's possible involvement, it's game over.

"No, what I'm saying is - bring me up to speed, keep me in the loop, and I'll keep my mouth shut and help you out as best I can. I have contacts you can't even conceive of. But when this is all over, you have to let me write about it - no matter how long it takes, no matter what way it turns out."

He stared unflinchingly into the young cop's eyes. Steve stared back, trying to judge this perceptive and persistent stranger. Were his motives genuinely altruistic? Did he really have Mike's best interests at heart? Or was he just out of scoop the competition on what could potentially be the most explosive story in San Francisco in years?

Steve blinked and looked away. He knew that confiding in a stranger was in many ways a lot easier than trying to talk to someone close - and, lord knows, he needed to talk.

Steve picked up his half-empty bottle and wiggled it. "Buy me another."

Driscoll smiled. "So, who's idea was the stroke gambit? It's genius." He signaled to the bartender.

Steve allowed himself a little smile as he took a sip of his beer. "Mine."

"I figured," Driscoll chuckled. "So, what's going on in there? What are you accomplishing?"

Steve was pleased, and relieved, to see that Driscoll hadn't taken out a notebook. "To be honest, not much."

Over the next few minutes, Steve explained what had happened, their theories as to why and how, who was or wasn't involved as far as they knew. But he tried to keep his frustration at their lack of progress under control.

"Shit," said Driscoll after Steve had finished. "Whoever's behind this has done a bang-up job. Look, to be honest, since I started to piece together things after the trial was suspended, I've been keeping my eyes and ears open too. I sorta figured you guys might be needing a little help down the road. But…nothing."

Steve nodded, then looked down at the table, playing with his beer coaster. Driscoll fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out and stuck it in his mouth. He offered the pack to Steve, who, much to the reporter's surprise, took one.

After lighting both cigarettes, Driscoll smiled curiously. "I didn't think you indulged."

"I've been trying to quit - Mike hates it when I smoke." He almost laughed. He inhaled deeply, held the smoke in, then let it out in a long breath.

Driscoll studied him, then looked away, took a drag of his own cigarette, then asked almost casually, "Do you think he's dead?"

Steve froze momentarily then snorted, glancing at Driscoll before saying, "You're the first one with enough balls to ask me that." He fell silent, and took another drag.

Driscoll gave him a few seconds. "That doesn't answer my question."

Steve put the cigarette in the ashtray then took a sip of his beer. He put the bottle down slowly and deliberately and kept his hand on it. He took a deep breath.

"Ninety-five percent of me thinks he's still alive," he said quietly. "It's that other five percent that scares the hell out of me."

"A word of advice," Driscoll said equally quietly, "don't give up. As long as you believe he's alive, until you have absolute one hundred percent proof to the contrary, don't give up. 'Cause you'll die inside too - I've seen it happen far too many times.

"If he's out there and he's still alive, he needs you to believe that - he needs you to never give up."  
Steve nodded slowly, eyes downcast. An awkward silence filled the air between them. Driscoll knew he had to break the ice some more, to get this troubled young man to open up even more.

"I met Mike when we were both rookies, so to speak. He struck me then as a really friendly guy with one hell of a tough streak when he needed it. But he was always fair and he was always moral, and I respected the hell out of that.

"And over the years as he climbed in the ranks and our paths crossed, it seemed to me he never lost those traits."

Steve stared into space as Driscoll spoke, and now he nodded slowly.

"I remember when I found out he'd picked you as his new partner," Driscoll chuckled. "I thought, 'That kid's either gonna learn a hell of a lot very fast, or his ass is gonna be back in a squad car'."

Steve started to smile, Driscoll noted with relief.

"I guess you learned fast, kiddo, 'cause you're still with him. That says a lot about you." Driscoll stopped to sip his beer. 

Steve glanced at the reporter, a bit of a twinkle back in his eyes. "That I did, that I did," he said, raising his bottle in a small salute. "You know, the first time he yelled at me, I thought 'That's it, that's the end of my career'. But it wasn't…" he trailed off, the smile soft and far away. "Who'd ever thought, hunh?" he chuckled dryly.

"What?" Driscoll said gently, not wanting to break the mood.

"Mike and me," was all Steve said, taking a deep breath and a sip of beer.

"You two are something special, I'll give you that."

That hit a mark - Steve looked at Driscoll from the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"

"Seriously? You guys are like chalk and cheese, as the Brits would say; you couldn't be more different - on the surface. But underneath, where it counts, you're the same."

Steve thought about that in silence for a few seconds, then he nodded soberly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Driscoll said lightly, hoping that this exchange would open the floodgates. He wasn't wrong. He'd always been good at overcoming reticence; it's what made him so good at his job.

"I remember the first time Mike and I …" Steve began, and for the next couple of hours they swapped stories of cases, suspects, personalities - and Mike. But eventually the stories dried up and the reality of why they were there in the first place crept back into their thoughts.

Driscoll had switched to club soda long ago and was sober as a judge. As the silence lengthened, he leaned forward and said quietly, "Look, it's time to get you home. But there's one thing we haven't talked about tonight and I'm afraid it's something I gotta ask."

He paused and waited till Steve's eyes travelled slowly from the bottle on the table to meet his own. Driscoll laid a gentle hand on Steve's forearm.

"I know you've thought about it. What are you gonna do on Monday morning?"

Steve stared at Driscoll for a long moment, then his eyes travelled slowly back down to the table.  
Driscoll continued. "I know what you're thinking - if Mike is still alive and you testify that you saw Cassidy kill that guy, then Mike doesn't have a chance." He paused, then even quieter he said, "And if you perjure yourself, lie on the stand, there's a slight chance you could get Mike back."

He had chosen his harsh words carefully, and had seen Steve wince at their use. When they young man still didn't respond, he played his ace.

"What do you think Mike would want you to do?"

Steve's eyes snapped up and Driscoll could see the anger.

"How will I live with myself if I don't do everything in my power to get him back?"

Driscoll's eyes bored into Steve's, his voice hard and uncompromising.

"And how will you live with yourself if you do?"


	8. Chapter 8

Monday morning at 10 a.m. the courtroom was packed to overflowing. Judge Roberts usually didn't allow standees but, because of the circumstances, an exception was made. The extra spectators were mostly off-duty cops, there to support their colleague, all well aware of the stakes involved.

Steve sat in an aisle seat, Jeannie beside him. Further along the row were Devitt and the four sergeants. Olsen, who had arrived late from his office, stood at the back. Driscoll had gotten to the courthouse very early and had a seat in the front row behind the defence table.

Since his all-night confessional with the reporter, Steve hadn't been seen by anyone. He had chosen to spend the weekend in seclusion and no one, not even Jeannie, tried to contact him.

Now he sat taciturnly, almost catatonic, as he waited for his name to be called.

A side door opened, and Cassidy, Lassiter and his junior co-counsel entered the courtroom and walked to the defence table. Cassidy looked as smooth and relaxed as ever and, if possible, there seemed to be more than the usual glint in his eyes.

He sat immediately, put his elbows on the table, and began twisting the gold band on his right ring finger with his left hand, his smile fox-like as he took in his surroundings.

The jury entered and sat, and then the bailiff asked everyone to stand as Judge Roberts took his seat. Roberts re-convened the trial and turned the proceedings over to Assistant District Attorney Gerald O'Brien, who immediately called Steve to the stand, where he was sworn in.

Carefully, slowly, item by item, O'Brien led Steve through the events of the night in question.  
Steve had been out with some college buddies who were back in the city for a few days. They had gone to a club on Powell for a night on the town. During the evening, needing to get out of the noise and frenzy, four of them had stepped out onto the sidewalk to have a smoke and the chance to talk without shouting at each other.

"And what happened then?" prompted O'Brien.

"We were jut about to go back in when I heard a soft pop. It's a noise I'm very familiar with."

"A soft pop," repeated O'Brien. "So, what makes this kind of noise?"

"A silencer. The club is alongside an alley and that's where the sound came from. I moved so I could get a look down the alley, and I saw two men - one was on his knees, the other standing over him, holding what looked to be a gun. As I stepped into the alley, I heard another pop and the man on his knees fell backwards."

"What did you do next?"

"I yelled at the man with the gun and he looked towards me, then he turned and ran the other way down the alley."

"Did you go after him?"

"No, I was unarmed. Maybe when I was less experienced, I would have, but…I have learned that…" he trailed off for a second. "I had gotten a good look at the shooter - the alley was pretty well lit - so my first concern was for the victim."

"What did you do?"

"I yelled to my friends and other people on the street to call for police and an ambulance and then I ran down the alley to the victim."

"What happened next?"

"The victim was still alive when I got to him and he was trying to say something, but he died very quickly. In my arms."

"The victim said nothing at all?"

"No. He had been shot twice - in the stomach and then in the head. The head wound killed him."

"Objection!" yelled Lassiter from the defence table. "Calls for a conclusion. The inspector is not a medical examiner."

"Sustained," said Roberts. "The jury will disregard the last statement." He nodded at O'Brien.

"So, Inspector Keller, you were on the scene first as a civilian enjoying a night out - then as a police inspector, is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have to ask, how much alcohol had you consumed before you stepped out onto the street with your friends?"

"I had two beers up until then."

"Only two?"

"Yes, sir. Any of my friends will confirm that under oath. We were going to go back in and have more but that never happened."

"Yes, of course." O'Brien walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a stack of papers, as if to help pull his thoughts together. Everyone knew where the line of questioning was heading.

Devitt felt Jeannie's hand slip into his and squeeze, but she kept her eyes riveted on her father's partner.

O'Brien turned back to the witness box. "Inspector Keller, the man you saw pull the trigger that night, the man who put a bullet into the head of Victor D'Souza, is he in this courtroom today?"

Every eye in the room was on Steve, every breath held. The inspector's neutral expression never changed as he stared at the District Attorney for what seemed like an eternity. He slid his left hand into his jacket pocket and fingered the envelope inside.

Getting into his Porsche that morning, he had found a plain white envelope under the windshield wiper. There was nothing written on the envelope and it wasn't sealed. He opened it slowly and took out a single folded white sheet of paper and, inside that, a photograph.

It was a colour snapshot, but he could barely make it out at first through his suddenly moist eyes. He caught his breath and his throat tightened.  
There staring back at him was a laughing Mike Stone, fedora on, arms crossed , leaning against the grill of their tan LTD. And there he was too, sitting on the hood, looking slightly towards his partner and laughing as well, both obviously sharing a joke and very much at ease with each other.

Steve had never seen this picture before, and he stared at it for a long moment. Tearing his eyes from the photo, he looked again at the white sheet. In a simple ballpoint hand was written - "I thought you might like this, a friend."

Now in the witness box, he caressed the envelope, recalling the image inside. Then he took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

There were audible gasps from the gallery and Roberts quickly scanned the room, brow furrowed.

"Can you point him out for us, please?" prompted O'Brien, his own heart in his throat.

Steve slowly raised his right hand and pointed at the defence table. "Right there," he said deliberately. "Patrick Cassidy."

There was an eruption in the courtroom. Jeannie's grip tightened on Devitt's hand but her eyes never left Steve and her expression didn't betray her. Further down the row, Ianello leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Burke slapped his back in empathy. Donovan and Carter exchanged sad, defeated looks. Olsen hung his head, then slowly turned and left the courtroom.

From where he was sitting, Driscoll could see the back of Cassidy's head as he looked towards the witness stand. His expressionless eyes were locked on the young man on the stand, but he also noticed that, for a second or two, Cassidy stopped twisting his ring and froze.

Everyone knew the price Steve Keller had just paid.

Judge Roberts banged his gavel several times to restore order.

# # # #

The remainder of Steve's testimony for the prosecution went by in a blur for him. The pounding in his ears drowned out everything but O'Brien's questions and his own answers.

Then the D.A. was finished. It hadn't taken as long as everyone had anticipated.

Judge Roberts turned to the young man on the stand. "Inspector Keller, do you wish to take a short recess?"

Steve swallowed. "No, sir. I'd like to continue." He wanted to get this over with.

"Very well," said Roberts, "Mr. Lassiter, does the defence have any questions for this witness?"

"Yes, sir, I do," said the slick, millionaire lawyer, getting to his feet and approaching the witness.

For the next two hours, Steve answered every question Lassiter had, his eyes riveted on the lawyer, his answers short and on point. He didn't dare let his gaze shift into the gallery, to Jeannie, or Devitt, or Driscoll. He was hanging onto his control by the merest thread and every fibre was determined to get him through this most horrific of days.

Finally, close to 3 o'clock, having been on the stand for almost five straight hours, Lassiter took a step back, glanced at Judge Roberts and said, "That'll be all. Thank you, Inspector Keller," and returned to the defence table.

No one made a sound as Steve got up slowly, stepped down from the box and moved back to his seat. He avoided Jeannie's eyes as he sat, staring straight ahead. Devitt leaned towards Carter beside him and whispered something. Carter nodded.

"Very well," said Judge Roberts as Steve was making his way back to the gallery, "it's almost 3 p.m. and it's been a very long morning. As Inspector Keller was the last scheduled witness, we will adjourn for today and reconvene Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. for summations. Is everybody alright with that?" he asked the two lawyers, who quickly agreed.

"Very well, that's it for today," Roberts said, as he rose, banging the gavel and tossing it on his desk.

"All rise," ordered the bailiff.

Everyone stood in unison. Steve continued to stare straight ahead. Jeannie turned to him. "Steve?"

When he didn't respond right away, Devitt leaned toward Jeannie. "Not now," he whispered.

As others began to exit up the centre aisle, Steve didn't move. Suddenly Driscoll appeared at his elbow.

"Steve," he said quietly, "come with me."

The young cop seemed to shake himself back to reality and made eye contact with the older man. He nodded and began to follow Driscoll up the aisle.

"Steve..?" Jeannie was confused and a little afraid.

Driscoll turned to her briefly. "It's alright, Jeannie, I'll explain later."

Jeannie stiffened at the use of her name, but let them go, turning to Devitt in questioning concern. Devitt was looking at the older man intently, then his face broke into a small, knowing smile.  
"Steve'll be okay. Phil Driscoll is an old crime reporter from the Chronicle - he knows your Dad and I 'm sure he knows Steve as well."

Everyone avoided making eye contact with Steve as he and Driscoll exited the courtroom and started down the hallway. Driscoll had Steve lightly by the elbow, guiding him along to the elevators. He also noticed that Burke and Ianello were with them but no one made any attempt at conversation. Others stood aside to let them on and they rode up one floor, got out and crossed to a room halfway down the corridor.

Driscoll opened the door to the pressroom and looked inside. "Fellas," he called in, "give me the room please?"

The three reporters in the room began to protest before they noticed the young inspector standing in the doorway. Then quickly, with nods to Driscoll, they closed their notebooks and hung up their phones and slipped past the pair into the hallway.

Driscoll ushered Steve ahead of him into the room then turned to Ianello and Burke and nodded. The sergeants nodded back, and as the door closed, they turned to face the corridor, once more on duty as bodyguards.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sorry." He was coughing slightly, trying to get rid of the taste of bile in back of his throat.

"What for?"

No response. Steve was sitting on the floor of the small bathroom, back against the wall, forearms resting on his raised knees. He still had the tissue in one hand that Driscoll had given him when he emerged from the stall.

Driscoll thought about sitting on the floor as well but with deference to his own age, opted instead to lean against the sink. He watched in silent sympathy as the younger man struggled to regain his shattered composure.

Steve Keller was known for his laid-back cool, his calm control, a trait he had learned under a mentor who sometimes lost his own. But now there was a compelling vulnerability that made the veteran journalist want to protect him from further harm.

Driscoll watched Steve's flaring nostrils and heaving chest, and the silent tears that slowly trickled down his cheeks. Time…that was what he needed now. Time.

Finally, a whisper. "I killed him, didn't I?"

"You don't know that. Not for sure."

Steve looked at him.

"But I know what you did do," Driscoll continued. "You made him very proud today."

Steve looked away but Driscoll saw him draw in another big breath, and the tears flowed a little stronger. Eventually he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and swallowed hard. As he sighed he asked quietly, "What do I do now?"

Driscoll knew he wasn't looking for an answer; he just needed to talk. But when he didn't continue, Driscoll said, "What do you mean?"

"I can't go back out there, I can't face Jeannie. What do I tell her?"

"You don't have to tell her anything - she knows you did what you had to do - the only thing you could do. The one thing her father would want you to do -"

"The one thing that guaranteed I'll never see him again," Steve finished.

"You don't know that," Driscoll said again, more forcefully this time.

Steve stared at him but said nothing.

"Look," said Driscoll sternly, "do you really think this is the way Mike would want you behaving? Sitting here wallowing and feeling sorry for yourself which, from all I've seen and heard, isn't like you at all. I'm pretty sure he'd want you to go back out there, face Jeannie and your colleagues and keep trying to find him.

"It's done, Steve, it's over," he continued, his tone softening, "you did what you had to do, the right thing, the honourable thing. Everyone's proud of you.

"You've had the most to lose in all of this. But just remember, you're not alone. They may have lost Mike but they sure as hell don't want to lose you too."

Steve stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Good," said the reporter, pushing away from sink, "we've gotta get some food back into you. Now clean yourself up and we'll get out of here so the boys can come back in and finish filing their stories." He reached out and pulled the grateful young man to his feet.

# # # #

"You took my gun."

"What?" Devitt said into the phone, not sure who the caller was at first.

"You took my gun."

"Oh, yeah…uhm, sorry about that…it's just…well, you were feeling so bad, I…well, you know…"

Steve let him off the hook and almost chuckled. "Roy, it's okay. To be perfectly honest, it's probably something Mike would've done too."

Devitt laughed. "Yeah, I guess he would have. Look, where are you?"

"Home. I'm just gonna lay low till Wednesday morning, if that's okay."

"Sure, of course."

"I'll get my gun from you after the verdict…you know, just in case…"

Devitt froze. When Steve could hold out no longer, he heard another chuckle. "Just kidding. I'll see you Wednesday."

Devitt exhaled as he heard the click of a disconnection. He stared at the receiver in his hand - Steve almost sounded back to normal. He wondered what Driscoll had said.

# # # #

Steve stared at the phone on his coffee table for a long time, then picked up the receiver and dialed a number as familiar to him as his own. It rang three times before a soft female voice answered. "Hello."

He froze, suddenly unable to speak. The silent seconds passed. "Hello," she said again. He still couldn't speak and was afraid she was going to hang up. Finally, almost inaudibly, "Jeannie…" . He heard her catch her breath then, in a relieved rush, "Steve…" A long pause, then, "Where are you?"

He relaxed a little more at the tone of her voice. It didn't sound like she had been crying; she sounded normal. He took great comfort in that, in her strength. "Home." Then quickly, before she could say anything else, "Look, Jeannie, I am so sorry - "

"Don't be sorry," she cut him off firmly. "You've done nothing to be sorry for. They put you in an impossible situation." She paused, then, "Daddy would be so proud of you."

Steve caught his breath. She rarely used the familiar sobriquet; he was used to hearing her call her father 'Mike'.

And he also knew she used the past tense deliberately.

After more than a month, she was coming to terms with the possibility that she might never see her father again - something he was still so very reluctant to consider.

"You think so?" he asked, not wanting to release this thread that tenuously connected them right now.

"Of course," she insisted, "you know Mike - he always did the right thing, even if it meant someone had to suffer, even himself sometimes. You remember…" and softly and wistfully, she was off down memory lane.

Steve listened quietly, offering the occasional confirmation as she talked, the need to relive life with her father overpowering right now.

And he needed to listen. Eventually he offered stories of his own, things she had never heard before. They took comfort in each other's voices, grateful for the distance between them, not needing the pressure of being face to face right now.

But as with Driscoll mere days before, their stories eventually ran out and the pauses lengthened. Finally, into the void he said quietly, "I'll bring him home for you, Jeannie, for you and your Mom."

"I know," she said, equally softly, "I know."

# # # #

Wednesday morning's summations were suddenly upon them.

Jeannie had spent the previous day with a friend. Steve had gone into the office. His colleagues were supportive but gave him just the right amount of space so that he could go about his work in peace. He once again checked every 'Dead Body' report from around the country and the more important state and local jurisdictions, but still nothing. That mere fact alone was almost a comfort.

Now, another packed courtroom, another 10 a.m. start, but this time the stage belonged to the lawyers.

Roberts reconvened the trial and O'Brien took the floor. He was, as always, direct, factual and eloquent.

Steve's eyes never left the back of Cassidy's head. He watched the defendant's annoying habit of twisting the ring on his right hand, as if dismissing what was being said.

When O'Brien wrapped up an hour and a half later, the trial broke for lunch. As they left the courtroom, Steve spotted Driscoll in his usual front seat. They nodded and smiled at each other.

Steve, Jeannie, Devitt, Olsen and the four sergeants retired to a nearby restaurant. Talk turned naturally to O'Brien's summation and it's apparent effect on the jury.

"I tell you," said Carter, "I'd like to take that ring Cassidy keeps twisting and ram it down his throat. Talk about a smug bastard."

Steve smiled at the image - he felt that way himself.

"Well, it could be worse," said Donovan with a twinkle, "he could be filing his nails."

Everyone laughed. Devitt had been studying Steve since they'd arrived at the courthouse that morning. Since testifying, he had seemed to come to grips with their current reality - that after a month, this might be their new normal.

And while Devitt knew the young man would refuse to accept that, he was also aware that Steve would realize that they all had to move on right now in the only way they could, and to do that, he had to become a part of the greater whole once more.

Driscoll had obviously reached a place with the young inspector that no one else could, and Devitt was grateful for that. While Steve was undoubtedly not his old self, enough of the Steve Keller he knew as Mike Stone's partner had re-emerged to give them all hope.

# # # #

Lassiter's summation in the afternoon was a rehash of everything he had promised in his opening statement - minus the irrefutable proof that Cassidy wasn't guilty.

Try as he might to dismiss Steve's testimony, it was very evident that it was going to be an overwhelming factor in the jury's decision.

And as grandiloquent as he was, the overriding feeling was he was flogging a dead horse. Even Lassiter himself seemed to realize it.

When the defence lawyer had finished, Roberts instructed the jury and they exited, then Roberts adjourned. For all intents and purposes, the trial was over.

O'Brien met with the others in the corridor. A D.A. and trial lawyer for many years now, he had developed a sixth sense when it came to juries. He suspected this one would be quick to reach a verdict, so he advised everyone to stay 'nigh and handy' as he put it.

As the trial had worn on and no progress had been made in Mike's disappearance, the office at Franklin Hospital had been used less and less. Even Jeannie had stopped going.

But now, in the waning hours of the trial, they decided to retire there now. Donovan and Carter volunteered to pick up pizzas and drinks, and an hour later, they were once again squeezed into the small room, sitting on desks, chairs and the floor, together for possibly the last time, they all felt. O'Brien, who had stayed behind at the courthouse with Olsen, had promised to call the minute he got word. He didn't expect it to be long.

The conversation in the Franklin office stuck to neutral topics - pizza, beer, the city's best restaurants and night spots, even where to eat in Tucson, courtesy of Jeannie. But in reality, everyone's mind was in two other places - back at the courthouse and with Mike.

Shortly before 7 p.m., a mere four hours after being charged by Judge Roberts, the jury notified the bailiff that a verdict had been reached. Devitt called Franklin.

At 7:30 p.m., everyone was back in the courtroom, which once again was packed to overflowing. Steve could see Driscoll in his usual seat. 

Cassidy was as calm as usual, still twisting his ring. Lassiter looked slightly defeated. He knew, as did everyone else, that a quick verdict usually favoured a guilty plea.

Roberts entered and took his seat, reconvened the trial and then spoke to the jury. "Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?"

A middle-aged man stood and faced the bench. "Yes, Your Honour, we have." Every breath was held - even Cassidy stopped playing with his ring.

"We find the defendant guilty."

There were gasps and cheers from the gallery and Roberts quickly gaveled them silent. Many eyes had turned to Steve. He remained focused on the back of Cassidy's head but he nodded his approval. Jeannie grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"The court thanks the jury for their time and commitment. The jury is excused," said Roberts before turning to the defence table.

"The defendant will be taken into custody. Sentencing will take place at 2 p.m. on Monday, the 22nd, five days from now. This court is adjourned." And with the bang of his gavel, it was all over.

As the judge stood, so did everyone else. Reporters shot up the aisle to get to the phone or the pressroom to file their stories. Driscoll stayed back to watch the last few minutes of this little drama. Bailiffs approached Cassidy who, for the first time, had turned to face the gallery. The smug exterior was gone now and his expression was coldly calculating as he scanned the spectators.

Finally his menacing glare settled on the hard stare of Steve Keller. Those who were watching froze. Jeannie looked from Steve to Cassidy and gasped; their loathing was palpable and she had never seen Steve look so dark.

As the bailiffs reached for Cassidy, he deliberately reached raised his hands and with a great flourish, took off the gold ring he had been twisting and slammed it down on the desk behind him, never taking his eyes from Steve's. The bailiffs grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides, and with Lassiter trialing, they escorted the convicted murderer from the room.

Everyone released their held breaths after the side door closed, and Jeannie grabbed Steve's arm in relief. Steve eyes travelled from the closed door to the desk and he froze.

Slowly, as in a trance, he moved into the aisle, and then into the 'pit', crossing to the defence table. He couldn't seem to take his eyes from the ring now laying on the table. Everyone was watching him. Suddenly his body seemed to sag, and he growled through clenched teeth, "Son of a bitch!"

Devitt was at his side in a flash. "What?"

Steve looked at the Captain in shock and growing despair. "The ring - it's Mike’s."


	10. Chapter 10

"I don't know how many ways I can put this, Steve. We don't have anything," O'Brien said again. As much as he liked and respected the young cop, he was beginning to lose his patience.

"You know as well as I do that if we don't have any proof - one hundred percent irrefutable solid proof - we can't do anything. And you've admitted yourself that you can't give me that proof."

They were seated in Olsen's office, the Chief and Devitt silent spectators as the D.A. and the cop battled it out once again.

Steve wasn't about to back down. "Gerry -"

"Steve, enough," O'Brien cut him off. "I'm on your side in this, god knows, but as the D.A. I can't do anything legally - and I won't do anything illegally - with this. We're just going to have to live with it - unless you guys," he included the others in the room, "come up with something.

"That's it. End of argument." He took a deep breath and settled himself. "Now I have to get back to work - there are a lot of other cases on my desk right now." He rose to leave.

Devitt got up from where he was perched on the edge of Olsen's desk and opened the door. O'Brien turned in the doorway.

"Steve, I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help…"

When there was no response, he turned and left the room. Devitt closed the door behind him then resumed his position on the desk.

When no one said anything, Olsen ventured, "You know, Steve, he's right."

Steve's eventual nod was reluctant. "I know," he admitted. "I guess I was just hoping."

"What, that he'd break the law? You can't ask him to do that."

"I know. I'd just…damn it…I know that's Mike's ring. I know it."

"Yes, but knowing it and proving it are two different things - you know that too. Hell, even Jeannie can't say for certain it's her father's ring.

"If there was a design or an inscription, of course, but it's just a plain gold band."

“I know." Steve's left hand trailed down to his pants pocket and he could feel the ring through the material.

"Well, for what it's worth," chimed in Devitt, "we're gonna go back over everybody in Cassidy's circle once more, with fresh eyes, to see if we overlooked anything. But to be honest, Steve, maybe somebody in Cassidy's outfit knew Mike wore a plain gold band and he just pulled that little stunt to piss you off."

"Well, he succeeded in doing that, that's for sure," Steve agreed ruefully.

"So," said Olsen, "what are you going to do?"

Steve looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I know everything's still fresh and raw right now, but we really need you back at work. We've been two men down for a long time now and we've got to get back to full strength."

Steve looked at Devitt.

"I'm gonna be stepping in temporarily to take over Mike's job - for a few weeks anyway or until … Well, we'll cross that bridge… Anyway, I need to know - are you back on duty or do you need more time?"

"Ah, no, no," Steve shook his head, suddenly finding himself having to make a decision on the spot. "Uhm, yeah, I want to get back to work."

"What's Jeannie going to do, do you know?" Olsen asked gently.

Steve shrugged. He realized he had not talked to Mike's daughter about the future - it just seemed too painful at the time. But now, that future was here.

"I'll talk to her. Uhm, look, can I have till Monday? I gotta get some things straightened out."

Olsen nodded. "Sure, Monday's fine."

# # # #

"Thanks for doing this. You didn't have to, you know."

The wind from the open window was blowing her short hair around but the breeze was nice and she knew that all too soon she would be back in the deserts heat.

Steve glanced at her, but she couldn't see his eyes through the dark glasses.

"I couldn't just drop you off at the bus station, now could I? What would Mike say?"

This brought a wistful smile to her lips but her eyes still bore a melancholy sadness that he knew may never go away.

Jeannie had decided to go back to school - to finish out the year at least. There really was nothing she could do in San Francisco, and completing her year would at least occupy her mind and body for awhile. The less time she had to sit and think about the enormity of her loss, the better. She stared soberly at her father's partner for several seconds.

"You still believe he's alive, don't you?" she asked gently.

Steve glanced at her before answering. "I have to. Right now it's the only way I can keep going."

He was holding the steering wheel with his right hand, and she reached out and laid her hand lightly on top of his and squeezed. He turned to her and grinned.

And she marveled once more at the poise and character of this remarkable young man, forever grateful that he had found a way into her father's life and subsequently her own. She squeezed his hand again before letting it go then turned to look out the window, hoping the wind in her face would explain her suddenly moist eyes.

# # # #

They said their goodbyes in front of her apartment in Tucson, promising to keep in touch with weekly phone calls. Then he hit the road again, wanting to get back to the city as soon as possible. He knew, like Jeannie, that keeping busy would help to salve the open wound with which he now lived.  
In a straight stretch of highway through the desert between Tucson and Phoenix, he turned on the radio and played with the tuning knob to find a station.

Suddenly, the familiar first notes of a pop song blared from the Porsche's speakers, and immediately and unexpectedly Steve Keller's eyes filled with tears and he quickly pulled the car to the shoulder and stopped.

And for the next several minutes, he sat behind the wheel and cried uncontrollably as the sounds of The Carpenter's "Close to You" filled the desert air.

# # # #

The Homicide Bureau fell into a new normality with Devitt at the helm. And while Steve wasn't partnered with anyone in particular, he worked with the Captain more than anyone else. He hadn't attended the sentencing hearing for Cassidy, not trusting himself. Everyone agreed.

But other than Jeannie and Steve, the entire team was there, and Devitt and the four sergeants stopped by Homicide afterwards to deliver the news - twenty-five years to life without the possibility of parole for twenty years. It was a good sentence and everyone was satisfied - and Steve silently vowed that he would be at the prison entrance in twenty years with a gun.

The four sergeants bade Steve goodbye, vowing to keep in touch and wishing him well. An emotional Ianello swallowed him in a fierce bear hug before his bemused partner could drag him from the room.

Steve would be eternally grateful to these four men for their professional commitment and diligence, and their personal support. He'd miss having them around.

And while Steve kept in touch with Driscoll as well, even meeting for a beer or two occasionally to catch a ballgame on a bar TV, it was just never the same for Steve. The hole in his soul felt like it was never going to heal.

The days and weeks wore on - Jeannie and Steve spoke weekly - but as time passed, their calls became shorter and shorter. They always ended the same way though - with Steve telling her he would bring her father home and she telling him that she knew.

But it was getting harder and harder to believe those words.

# # # #

As spring turned into summer, a new routine had settled in, and a few surprises. Devitt was having a good time back in the field, and was toying with the idea of making the move permanent. He'd even started using Mike's office, though the name on the door stayed the same.

Jeannie had decided to spend the summer in Tucson, and was actively looking for a job or placement. Staying alone in the Potrero house for the summer was not something she wanted to do, and Steve understood completely.

Towards the end of June, Captain Olsen and his wife threw a party at their home for two patrolmen who had recently earned their shields. Everyone in Homicide attended. There was a lavish spread and an open bar - and a good time was had by all.

Steve had long ago stopped being the centre of everyone's attention because of the trial and Mike's disappearance - time has a way of soothing the sharpest sting. And he was grateful to become just one of the guys again.

He'd had a few beers and was feeling no pain when he sought refuge in the quiet behind the Olsen's garage. He sat on the ground with his back against the wall and fished out his pack of cigarettes. He was just lighting his first when someone plopped down on the grass beside him.

"I thought I might find you out here," a voice said lightly.

Steve finished lighting the cigarette before he turned to face the speaker. When he did, his eyebrows shot up and he couldn't resist a chuckle. "Danny, Jesus Christ, I didn't see you tonight. When did you get here?"

Inspector Dan Segal snorted. "I sort of snuck in about an hour ago. I'm keeping a low profile, so to speak."

"You still underground?" Steve asked, offering a cigarette.

"No, no, I decided to, shall we say, 'come in from the cold' a month or so ago. But they're 're-introducing' me back into the fold a bit at a time. I'm on the fast track for a gold shield, so they tell me, but it's still gonna take a little time, so we'll see."

He had taken a smoke and now Steve lit it for him. As Segal took the first big drag, Steve raised his beer bottle in a salute. "Well, congratulations - nobody deserves a gold shield more, man."

They clinked bottles. "Thank you," said Segal sincerely, with a nod, then waited a few seconds before continuing. "Ah, listen, Steve, there's a reason I sought you out tonight." He paused and took another drag, holding the smoke in for a long moment, looking at the grass between his feet.

"One of the reasons I decided to get out when I did … well, I was under, of course, when Mike…" He glanced quickly at Steve and was relieved to see only a knowing nod. "Steve, I tried my best to find out anything I could. I asked questions I shouldn't have, I went to people I shouldn't have been anywhere near… I thought, maybe if I could find that one thing, that one clue…" he trailed off.

He could feel Steve's eyes on him but he couldn't meet the stare. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, hanging his head.

There was a long silence as Steve continued to stare at the man beside him. Then, "Danny, look at me."

Segal reluctantly looked up. "Thanks, man," Steve said earnestly. "I mean that…you have no idea how much that means to me. You have no idea, really."

Segal nodded, grateful for the appreciation. "Thanks. I mean, ah, you're welcome." He swallowed hard. "I owe Mike a lot, you know. He's the one that really believed in me, even after all that crap with my brother… Mike knew me better than I knew myself. I coulda so easily took that screwed-up path my brother did but Mike made sure I didn't - and on my own terms. He took a chance, you know?"

"Oh, I know," said Steve with a smile and a nod. "He took a chance on me too."

"Really?" Segal's eyebrows approached his hairline. "You were a screw-up too?" he asked with feigned innocence.

Steve gave Segal a double take and a slow burn. Segal laughed and Steve quickly followed, holding up his bottle in a 'touche' move.

When the laughter subsided, Segal again turned to his colleague. "So what's it been like?"

Steve looked at him quizzically but Segal's sober expression asked the question again. Steve took a long drag on his cigarette and leaned the back of his head against the wall. He blew a long steady stream of blue smoke into the air before answering. "It's numbing. It's like I'm just walking around in a fog all the time. My life is on hold right now and I don't know for how long.

"The hardest part is the hope," he said slowly. "I keep hoping that one day he'll walk through the squad room door just like nothing ever happened, and we'll jump into the car and head out somewhere and everything will be just as it was…" He took a swig from his beer. "That's my hope," he said quietly. "My reality…well, that's another thing altogether." He started working the bottle label with his thumbnail. "My reality right now is that I can bring his body home for his daughter."

Segal had been watching Steve quietly as he spoke. Now he asked gently, "So you think he's dead?"

Steve didn't react at first and Segal was uncertain he had heard the question. When Steve finally spoke, it was with a slight twinkle in his eyes and a wistful smile on his lips.

"I used to think Mike and I were connected - you know, not like twins are supposed to be but sometimes I could read him like a book. That's what I miss most, I guess. We could be at opposite sides of a room and make eye contact and I would know exactly what he was thinking. I'm sure he could do the same.

"There was something weirdly comforting in that…I miss it…" He took one final pull from his cigarette and stubbed it out on the grass beside him.

"I always thought that I would feel him die," he said, staring at the butt, "and I haven't felt anything. Maybe that's why a part of me still thinks he'd out there somewhere."


	11. Chapter 11

"Wanna dog?"

"What?" Steve seemed to snap awake, momentarily disoriented.

Mike's turn to him was dramatically slow and pointed. "I'm sorry, is the game putting you to sleep? Or is it my company? Do…you…want…a…hotdog?"

Steve looked out at the field; the Giants were up and it looked like there were a couple of men on base. He looked at his partner, still a little confused.

"Um, sure, yeah." He started to reach into his pocket.

"It's on me," said Mike, holding out his scorecard and pen. "Here, you keep score."

Steve scarcely had his hand back out of his pocket before the card and pen were thrust into his lap. He was trying not to drop the pen when Mike put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The ear-piercing sound cause Steve to duck involuntarily, and the unfortunate people sitting in the row in front of them jumped and put their hands over their ears.

Oblivious, Mike was gesturing to the vendor as Steve gave him a sideways glare. "How many times have I told you to warn me when you're gonna do that? I think they heard you in Oakland."

Mike laughed, but didn't take his eyes off the vendor, who had made his way to the end of their row.  
The transaction complete, Mike was about to hand the hotdog to his seatmate when he stopped. "You missed it."

Steve looked up, confused.

Mike gestured towards the field with the hotdog in his right hand. "The single down the first base line and the runner now on third."

"Oh. Sorry." Steve picked up the pen and balanced the scorecard on his knee. His head down over the form, he heard, quietly but distinctly, "I'm not dead, Steve."

The pen froze in mid-air. Steve slowly turned to face the man beside him. Mike was looking at the field then, with deliberate calm, turned to face him.

Their eyes met and held, and Mike smiled and nodded. As he started to turn back to the field, his grin got wider, and he winked.

# # # #

Steve awoke with a start. He was lying on top of his bedspread, still in the clothes he was wearing at the Olsen's party.

As he struggled to sit up, trying to remember details of his dream, he became aware of a serene tranquility that had eluded him these past few months.

An hour later, now showered, shaved and changed, Steve drove to work as the first rays of the sun coloured the horizon.

When the others began to arrive for the day, he was already halfway through sending out updated APB's.

# # # #

"Bob, there's somebody here I think you should talk to."

Sergeant Robert Bailey looked up from the note he was making at his desk. A uniformed sergeant stood near the door of the Robbery Division. "Sure, Dave."

Bailey continued to make notes and it was almost a minute later that he looked up and noticed the nondescript little middle-aged man standing in the doorway.

"Ah, sorry," he said, standing. "I'm Sergeant Bailey, Robbery-Homicide." He held out his hand. The small man walked closer to the desk, awkwardly pulling off his brown porkpie hat, and shook Bailey's hand.

"Have a seat." Bailey noticed how nervous the man was as his restless eyes circled the room. "What can I do for you, Mr…?"

"Um, Martin, ah, John Martin - call me John."

"Alright, John, what can I do for you?"

"Well, ah, I'm not really sure," he began as they sat, "see, I think I might have killed someone - um, accidentally."

Bailey was intrigued. He put the pen down and looked Martin in the eye. "Accidentally?"

The smaller man twisted his hat in his hands. "Accidentally ain't the right word - more like unintentionally."

"Okay. Go on. When did this take place?"

"Well, that's the thing, see, it's sort of going on right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Ya see, it all started back a few months ago. I'm not from around here, see, I'm from over in Kansas City. See, I've kinda been on the wrong side of the law most of my life, but nothin' big. You know, cheque kiting, numbers running, that kinda thing.

"The guys in KC that run everything, well, they know me pretty well. Anyways, a few months back, I get approached by these guys and they say they want me to go to Albuquerque for a few months to look after this place they got there. They tell me they'll give me ten grand up front, then when it's all over, whatever the hell 'it' is, they'll give me a new car and another twenty-five G's and I just make myself scarce."

He paused, smiled and chuckled. "Hell, I ain't never seen five grand let alone ten - so what could I say."

"Okay, so you took them up on their offer…?"

"You bet. I needed the money, I had nothing better to do, and I ain't never been to Albuquerque. So they brought me here and it turns out, this place they were talkin' about is this warehouse just outta town near the airport. It's all isolated out there and everything.

"So they give me a car with New Mexico plates so's I don't cause any suspicion, and they tell me that once a day- doesn't matter what time a the day - I'm to go out to this building and there's this little door built into the side of the wall. It's not very big - not big enough for a person anyway, not even someone as small as me - and I'm to put some food and water on the shelf inside this little door and then lock it up and then turn this big wheel and the shelf inside somehow gets turned around and whatever's on the other side gets the food and water. Do you know what I'm sayin?"

Martin paused in his narrative. Bailey, who had been mildly interested at first, was now completely focused. He was jotting down notes furiously.

"Yes," he said, "I know what you're saying. So, there was someone in the warehouse?"

"Well, I'm not sure, you see. The place was like Fort Knox. I mean, all the windows were covered with these steel plates, even the door, and I guess the walls are real thick 'cause I couldn't hear anything. I'm not even sure if there's electricity in there. I mean, the wires are still there and all that, but who knows…"

“How do you know there was anyone in there, then?"

"Well, ya see, every time I opened that little door, the shelf was empty. I figured if someone wasn't taking the stuff off the shelf, it'd still be there, right?"

"Okay…go on."

"See, these guys told me I was to do this for three months. They gave me this motel room to stay in and money enough to buy food and stuff and I was just to make sure that I went out there once a day, every day. That's it."

"And you did?"

"Damn right I did. I mean, I may be a crook and I may make my living on the wrong side of the law, but I do have integrity," Martin said with a touch of pride," and when someone asks me to do a job - "

"Pays you to do a job," Bailey corrected.

"Pays me to do a job, I'm gonna do that job. I never missed a day, even when I had a cold and one time when I was hungover…

"But anyway, see, I was told to do this for three months and at the end of three months, if I hadn't heard any different, I was just to walk away. They said to leave the car, take a bus back to KC and there they'd give me the new car and the rest of the money."

Martin stopped, his face lined with guilt.

"So what happened?"

Martin took a deep breath before continuing. "Well, I kinda got used to the routine and I started to sorta get attached to that unknown whoever it was behind the wall. I'd put in little extras sometimes, you know, like a bottle of milk or a chocolate bar.

"So after three months, I couldn't just walk away. I waited an extra four days, but I still didn't hear nothin'. So I left and went to KC.

"I found the car and the twenty-give grand in the trunk, just like they promised. But I felt…funny, like I was killing somebody…" Martin hesitated again, but Bailey just watched him, letting the older man set his own pace for the narrative. "After three days in KC, I decided to come back here… I went straight to the warehouse. It was exactly like I left it. I picked up a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk and I put it inside, you know, just in case…and then I got back in my car…and I came straight here."

Martin looked Bailey in the eyes, pleading. "Sgt. Bailey, I can't live with myself if I killed someone - that's not the type of guy I am. I need your help."

“When did you say all this started?" asked Bailey, already reaching for a stack of bulletins on the corner of his desk.

"Ah, a little over three months ago. Why?"

Bailey rifled quickly through the papers - but he didn't have to search very hard. What he was looking for was near the top. He slapped the paper down on the desk in front of him and reached for the phone.

"Don, get a couple of units and meet me in the parking lot. And put an ambulance on standby. I'll be right down." He hung up. "Mr. Martin, come with me."

# # # #

The airplane rolled to a stop on the tarmac and almost immediately two black & whites and a dark blue unmarked sedan pulled up to the bottom of the airstairs as they were rolled into position. The plane door opened and the two San Francisco police officers were the first out. As they got to the car, an older plainclothes detective held out his hand.

"Sgt. Bailey. You must be Inspector Keller."

They shook hands quickly as Steve and Devitt dove into the sedan, the doors slammed shut and, lights and sirens, the procession sped off.

# # # #

Fifteen minutes later the cars screamed to a halt in front of the Presbyterian Hospital, the doors of the sedan flying open before the car had come to a complete stop.

Steve, Devitt and Bailey sprinted to the front entrance, taking the steps two at a time. A uniformed officer held the door open for them, and as they followed Bailey down the corridor, they spotted another officer at the elevators, holding a car door open.

As they got in, the officer reached around the door towards the panel and pushed the button for the fifth floor, and then ducked back out into the hallway as the doors closed and spoke into a walkie-talkie.

Devitt was impressed with the efficiency and cut a quick, appreciative glance towards Bailey.

Steve had said nothing since getting off the plane, and now Bailey leaned towards him slightly. "Jean Stone has been here for a couple of hours already," he said quietly. Steve just nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses.

The elevator doors opened and Bailey stepped out first, turning immediately to his right. Steve and Devitt followed.

Down the corridor on the left, Steve saw a door open, and Jeannie Stone stepped into the hallway. She turned to Steve as he approached at a fast walk. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen, and she held her arms out to him.

He walked straight into her embrace and felt her fingers dig into him with a fierceness he had never experienced before. He could feel her heart pounding and her chest heaving as she seemed to gasp for air.

As he began to pull back, she whispered in his ear, "This is something you have to do on your own." She kissed his cheek, put her hands on the sides of his face, smiled and stepped back.

His own heart pounding out of his chest, Steve turned towards the door, taking off his dark glasses and putting them on top of his head. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a long second, then pushed the door open and entered the room.

A tall, frail-looking old man, wearing a white t-shirt and beige pants, was standing at the end of the hospital bed, one hand on the railing for support. He had long grey hair and an unkempt grey beard, and he stared at Steve through rheumy eyes for a long silent moment.

Then as the old man began to grin and the blue eyes began to twinkle, the years fell away. And as he took an unsteady step forward, Mike Stone walked back into Steve Keller's life.


	12. Chapter 12

Mike took another shaky step and stopped, still grinning, eyes alight. “Hi,” he said simply.

Steve stood as if frozen to the spot, one hand over his mouth. But as the older man began to move once more, he felt a smile building and, with an awe-filled, breathless “Hi” of his own, propelled himself forward, pulling the thin body into his arms. As surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his chest, he pulled Mike’s head against his own and felt the sting of tears in his now-closed eyes.

They stood that way for several long moments, gently swaying, reluctant to let each other go. Eventually Steve became aware of Mike’s quiet, soothing voice. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he crooned over and over, one hand stroking Steve’s back.

They pulled away slightly, eyes bright with unshed tears, to stare at each other. Eventually Steve put his hands on Mike’s face and held him, too overwhelmed to speak, then pulled the older man once more into his arms, rocking him back and forth in a ferocious hug.

Mike started to laugh. “Don’t knock me over,” he chuckled then began to cough. Alarmed, Steve released him but kept his hands on Mike’s arms to steady him as coughs racked the frail body.

“Come on, sit down,” Steve said quickly, helping Mike the couple of steps to the bed. Mike sat heavily, trying to catch his breath through the coughs.

Steve eyed him worriedly. “Do you want me to…?” He nodded towards the door. 

Mike put up a hand in a ‘wait’ gesture. As the coughs eased up, he said, “No, no, it’s okay. This happens a lot lately.” His voice was hoarse and weak. One last cough. “I’ve almost gotten used to it,” he said with an attempt at levity. But a hand pressed to his chest alarmed his young companion. Mike caught the concerned look. “Don’t worry, it’s not my heart – it’s my lungs.”

Steve gripped Mike’s arm and they stared at each other again, neither one moving. Finally Steve whispered, “It’s really you.”

Mike grinned through the beard and nodded. “Yeah, it’s really me. Although,” he gestured at his facial hair, “a little more Grizzly Adams and a little less Mike Stone.”

Steve laughed and reached up to touch the beard. “I like it – it’s very Appalachian.”

Mike’s eyebrows rose and he chuckled. “Yeah, you would.” His expression turned serious and his eyes softened. “Jeannie told me you never gave up.”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat. He had to swallow hard before he could talk, and even then he tried to keep it light. “Well, you know, I knew you’d be right pissed at me when we found you if all of us had thought you were dead.”

Mike’s smile was warm and embarrassed and thankful at the same time. “I knew you wouldn’t give up,” he said quietly. “That’s what kept me going.” He stared at his partner, his look pensive and melancholy. “I missed that,” he added quietly.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The sound of your voice.”

Steve caught his breath as his heart broke in two. He reached out and took Mike’s hand and squeezed it, biting his lower lip to maintain some control. He swallowed and tried a wry smile. “We found you,” he said simply, “we’re bringing you back home.”

Mike mirrored his smile. “It’s good to be back.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his last remaining store of energy seeming to drain away.

Alarmed, Steve took his arm. “Are you okay?”

Mike half opened his eyes and grinned. “I’m fine, really.” He gestured at himself. “But running an engine this big on one meal a day for three months just doesn’t work.” 

“I can see that.” Steve tried not to let his worry show. “We’ve got to get some weight back on you. Hell, I think even I could take you right now.”

Mike laughed softly. “Oh, I know you could. Right now I think I’d lose a fistfight with a kitten.” He winked. “But not for long,” he struggled to get out through a bout of coughing that alarmed his companion once more.

When Mike got the coughing under control, Steve relaxed and sighed loudly, touching his face again, staring at the older man as if trying to burn every feature into his mind. “That was way too close, Michael; way, way too close.”

Mike nodded. “I know. It really was.”

They sat in companionable silence for several long moments, with the easy familiarity both men had missed so much. It felt good and right and natural to be back in each other’s company.

Steve watched Mike close his eyes again, and he stood up. “Lie down,” he instructed as he put his hand at the back of Mike’s head and helped him lie back on the hospital bed. 

Mike was struggling to keep his eyes open and on his young friend. “There’s so much I want to talk to you about,” he protested feebly. 

Steve smiled. “I know, but we’ve got all the time in the world. You need to rest right now.” He pulled the sheet up. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, don’t worry.”

Mike nodded and closed his eyes. Within seconds his breaths were even and deep. Steve laid a hand over Mike’s heart, and although he could feel the older man’s ribs, he took comfort in the strong, steady rise and fall of his chest. 

# # # # #

“He’s got a lung infection, he’s seriously dehydrated and about 40 pounds underweight, but considering what he went through, he’s in remarkably good condition.” Dr. Emil Pattersen sat facing Steve, Jeannie, Devitt and Bailey in the hospital waiting room.

“He just looks so frail,” said Jeannie with true worry in her voice.

“I think once he loses that beard and long hair, he’s going to look a lot better. We have the hospital barber scheduled to see him in the morning.”

“He wanted to keep it till you saw him,” said Bailey with a grin.

“Sounds like Mike,” agreed Steve, who found he was having a hard time not smiling at everything now.

“Stubborn as a mule, right?” said Pattersen. “I’m not surprised. Inspector Keller, I don’t know if you’re aware of this – we were keeping him in bed but he insisted –“

“More like demanded,” Jeannie interjected.

“—that he be dressed and standing when you got here.”

Steve looked to Jeannie for confirmation and she nodded with a “what did you expect” expression.

Steve chuckled, pleased to know not all the fight was gone out of his partner. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well,” said Pattersen, “I want to keep him here for another couple of days to build his strength up before the trip back to San Francisco.”

“And,” continued Bailey, “APD has gotten a little protective of the lieutenant these past few hours. We don’t want to lose him so soon. It’s not every day we get a happy ending to a case, is it?”

“That’s for sure,” echoed Devitt, as both Jeannie and Steve nodded.

“We want to make sure we get a handle on that lung infection before we let him go – but he seems to be responding already, so that’s good news.” Dr. Pattersen focused on Jeannie. “You should have your father back home by the end of the week.”

Jeannie leaned forward and took the doctor’s hands in both her own. She looked directly into his eyes, an attitude Steve had seen her adopt many times before. “Thank you so very much, Dr. Pattersen. You have no idea how grateful I am to you and the staff here.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And you too, of course, Sgt. Bailey – you all have been so wonderful to us.”

Dr. Pattersen grinned, and Steve thought he almost saw him blush. “You’re very welcome, my dear young lady. It’s our pleasure.” And with that he got up and left the room, leaving a bemused Steve and Devitt to watch his retreat. Another male of the species had fallen for this remarkably poised and beautiful young woman. 

Steve glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to Mike’s room – I promised him I’d be there when he woke up.”

“And I’ve got to get home,” said Bailey. “I was at the end of a long shift when all this started. It’s been almost 48 hours since I’ve been home.” As he stood, he turned to Steve and Devitt. “Gentlemen, what do you want us to do with John Martin? We still have him in custody but we’ll have to let him go if we’re not going to charge him with anything.”

Steve got to his feet. “Ah, I’ve been giving it some thought – but I want to talk to Mike first. Is it okay if I let you know in the morning?”

“Sure. Martin’s not bitching about being in custody; as a matter of fact, I think he feels safer, all things considered.”

“Sounds good to us,” agreed Devitt, shooting a confused look at Steve. He hated being left out of the loop.

Bailey wished everyone goodnight and took his leave, promising to see them the next day. Steve turned to Devitt. “You haven’t seen Mike yet – why don’t you come in with me. He’ll probably still be asleep, but you can at least see him.”

Devitt smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Jeannie, I’ll take the overnight shift and you can have him all day tomorrow – deal?”

She knew that Steve needed to spend time alone with her father. With a nod and a smile, she threw her arms around his neck. He felt her relax against him and he folded his arms around her. They stood like that for a long moment. “You got him back for me,” she whispered in his ear. “Thank you.”

His heart skipped a beat and he held her tighter, not wanting her to see the tears in his eyes.

# # # # #

Mike woke with a start, gasping for air, his eyes snapping around the room in fear. The hand that was holding his tightened its grip. “You’re okay, Mike. I’m here,” came a familiar voice. His eyes settled on his smiling partner. “You’re in a hospital in Albuquerque, remember?”

Mike’s confused look softened in recognition and he nodded and swallowed hard. “What time is it?” he asked hoarsely.

Steve looked at his watch. “Eight o’clock.”

“At night?”

Steve smiled, realizing that although the curtains were closed, the last remaining sunlight of the day was still visible. “Yeah, you slept the day away.”

Extracting his hand, Mike started to push himself into a sitting position.

“Don’t do that,” said Steve, “I’ll raise the bed.” He went to the foot and began turning the handle. “You must be hungry. Do you want something to eat?”

Mike seemed to think about it for a few seconds, staring at Steve as if at any moment the younger man might disappear. “Uh, yeah, I guess I am.” He smiled.

Although Steve had spent the last couple of hours sitting and staring at his sleeping partner, the latter’s emaciated features were still a shock. “Well,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “I have permission from the doctors, and Sgt. Bailey, to not only allow you to get anything you want from anywhere in town, but there’s a couple of off-duty cops out in the hall who’ve volunteered to run errands for us.”

He picked up a pile of pamphlets from a nearby table. “They’ve put together a bunch of take-out menus from various ‘local establishments’, and someone even made a list of what’s best from where.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Your choice. What’s your fancy?”

Mike was still staring at him, his expression a heart-breaking blend of fear, relief and hope. That they were back together, in the same room, carrying on like they had always done, was a reality that hadn’t actually sunk in for either of them.

Continuing in a light tone, knowing he needed the charade of normalcy just as much as Mike did, Steve smiled encouragingly. “Well?”

“I think I’d like a pizza,” Mike said with a broad smile, his voice still hoarse and thin.

Steve laughed. “Why did I bother asking? But, can we please pass on the anchovies? I don’t think even you could stomach them right now.”

Mike nodded. “This time,” he chuckled, and visibly seemed to relax, the insecurity starting to fade from his eyes.

“Okay, let’s see.” Steve consulted the list. “Pizza… Okay, it seems Nico’s is the recommended pizza place. Sounds good. All dressed?” He glanced up and received a confirming nod. “Now, to drink. May I recommend…” he flipped the list over, “The Dairy Bar milkshakes. I hear they are the best in the state.”

“Perfect.”

“So, strawberry for you, vanilla for me.” He wrote it down. As he stood up, he said, “The nursing staff asked me to tell them when you woke up. Seems they want to get you back into a hospital gown and get an IV into you. Is that okay?”

Mike looked crestfallen but Steve continued with a chuckle. “I know, I know, you and hospital gowns. Well, you’ll be happy to know, Jeannie has had a productive afternoon – she went out and bought you pajamas, as well as a few other things. They’re in your bathroom.” He jerked a thumb in that direction then crossed to the door with the list. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mike let his head fall back against the pillows and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. When he opened them again seconds later, he took a shuddering, relieved breath – yes, this really was happening, it was not a dream.

When Steve returned to the room about ten minutes later, the nursing staff had left. Mike was now wearing light blue pajamas and an IV drip was attached to the back of his left hand. His eyes were closed, and Steve started to tiptoe further into the room. Mike opened his eyes with a start, only to look a little sheepish to see Steve standing nearby. 

Steve crossed to the side of the bed and sat. He’d caught Mike’s reaction. Now he sat silently, staring at the older man. “What is it?”

Mike shook his head and smiled. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” Steve chuckled and returned to the chair, but not before giving Mike’s hand a quick pat. “Oh, I don’t know if you noticed,” he continued as he sat and collected the menus to put back on the table. “Our ever-resourceful Sgt. Bailey managed to scare up a cot for me.” He pointed to the corner of the room where a rollaway was tucked against the wall. “I’m gonna be your roommate for as long as you’re here.”

The old Mike would have protested and said it wasn’t necessary. This Mike just nodded and smiled, and Steve was sure he saw a little more of the tension evaporate. They sat for a couple of minutes in an easy silence. Steve eventually broke the spell. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

Mike took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it either. I really didn’t think I was going to see anybody again,” he whispered, then began to cough.

Steve was up and beside the bed in a shot, picking up the water glass. When Mike got the coughing under control, he took the glass and downed a few sips.

“Look,” Steve said, his tone serious and concerned, “we can talk about all that some other time, when your lung infection’s cleared up.” He rolled the hospital bed table closer so Mike could put the glass down then retreated to behind the chair. He picked up a large paper grocery bag that had been stashed there.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier, about missing the sound of my voice,” he explained as he put the bag on the chair and slid out a few newspapers. He dropped the bag on the floor, turned with a magician’s flourish and held out the papers. “Ta-da!”

Mike eyed him with a suspicious but curious smile.

“For the past three months, twenty-two days and fifteen hours – not that I was counting – you have been, shall we say, incommunicado. It is now my duty for the next several hours, or maybe longer, to bring you up to speed with what’s been happening in the world.

“So, the amazing guys and gals of APD – and I don’t know how they did this – they managed to put together a bunch of newspapers and newsmagazines,” he held up a Time and Newsweek, “from the past three months.”

Steve cleared his throat. “For some reason, I wasn’t able to keep up with what was going on in the world during that time either.” His voice cracked a little and he paused ever so slightly. “So we can both catch up.”

He looked up from the newspapers on his lap to meet Mike’s eyes. He knew the older man hadn’t stopped staring at him through his entire speech. Truth be told, Steve was loathe to look away as well, lest all of this suddenly become a bad dream. But he knew if he looked at Mike for too long he would break down; and he also knew that, for the foreseeable future, he had to continue to be the strong one.

“Now, Rip,” he continued with a wink, “I know you’re going to have questions. So, ta-da,” with another flourish he revealed a pad and pen, “you get to write your questions down.”

Mike opened his mouth to begin a protest but Steve waved him quiet. “Michael, there is nothing I want more than to hear the sound of your voice as well, but until you can talk without coughing, this,” he held up the pad and pen, “will have to do.”

With a rueful half-smile, Mike conceded with a nod. “Rip?” he whispered.

“Van Winkle,” Steve answered with a ‘what else?’ shrug.

Mike started to laugh but stopped himself before he began to cough again.

“Good,” Steve said with a grin, “shall we get started?” He pulled the chair closer to the centre of the bed, facing its occupant, and put the newspapers on the floor at his feet. “We’ll take a dinner break when our pizza gets here, but we have some time before that.” He opened a Time magazine.

“Now let’s see,” he began, “our ‘hiatus’ from the concerns of the world began at the end of February and,” he glanced at the cover again, “this one is dated March 3rd – as you know they’re always dated the week ahead, so I think we’re good here. Let’s see what happened…”

Steve’s left elbow was resting on the bed as he flipped through the first few pages of the magazine. When he felt Mike’s hand on his forearm, he paused and looked up. Mike stared into his eyes, trying wordlessly to convey how he felt. Steve smiled broadly and winked, then turned back to the magazine. He found the cover article and began to read. Mike’s hand remained on Steve’s arm, both taking comfort in the contact.

For the next while, Mike lay back against the pillows, occasionally taking a sip of water from the cup on the hospital tray in front of him, and with a warm smile, stared at his young companion and joyously took in every word. 

They both knew there was a long road still ahead. There was so much healing to be done by everyone, but that would come in time. For now, at this moment, this was what they needed, to be alone together.


	13. Chapter 13

Bailey glanced across the front seat at the young inspector and smiled.

“So, I hear you and the lieutenant, and two of my guys for that matter, didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

Steve, who had been staring pensively out the passenger side window, chuckled. “No, you could say that. Mike had slept most of the day; I was running on adrenaline, I guess. I don’t know what Clark and Rodriguez’s excuses are. But after they delivered the pizza, we all just sat around talking, except Mike of course. I wouldn’t let him. All of a sudden, it was four.” He chuckled again at the recollection, and at the realization that he had just spend the night in the company of the one person he thought he had lost forever.

“I heard something about ‘wastepaper basketball’?” Bailey inquired. He was trying to keep the mood light, knowing that when they reached their destination, Steve’s whole world was going to change.

Another chuckle. “Yeah. Mike’s a damn good basketball player – he coaches in the PAL league when he gets the chance – so we all got in a little b-ball with wadded up newspaper pages.” He paused, remembering. “It was good to see him having fun again,” he said quietly.

Bailey let him enjoy the memory for a bit, then, ”Oh, by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. I know you sent out a nationwide APB after all this started way back, but what made you resend it last week? ‘Cause you know, I remember seeing it when it first crossed my desk in what? Late February, early March? But it had totally slipped my mind. If you hadn’t sent it again, I might never have made the connection when Martin walked in with his story.”

Steve smiled wistfully, and Bailey knew that behind the dark sunglasses, his gaze was far away, focusing on something deep within. Finally he said, “Oh, just a hunch, I guess. A little voice in the back of my mind.”

Bailey knew there had to be more but let it go. He nodded. “Well, I know a lot of people that are glad you did.”

Bailey turned a corner; they were in an industrial area near the airport, and though it was only mid-June, the desert landscape was dry and dusty. Heat radiated through the windows and the car’s occupants were grateful for the air conditioning.

“We’re almost there,” Bailey announced quietly, almost in apology.

He had stopped by the hospital around 10 that morning to pick Steve up. Devitt had already left for the airport for his return to San Francisco. Jeannie, Steve and Mike were finishing breakfast in Mike’s room, Jeannie feigning irritation at the ‘shenanigans’ that had gone on in that room the night before.

Bailey had brought a camera and taken some shots of the hirsute Mike with his ‘family’ before he and Steve headed out. Mike would be clipped and clean-shaven when they returned.

“It’s pretty isolated out here.” The young inspector’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Uh, yeah,” Bailey responded as they turned another corner. “When the airport first opened, they thought this part of town would boom as an industrial site. It hasn’t panned out as yet but who knows… A lot of these places were built as warehouses and small manufacturing but most of them have gone belly up.”

He pulled the sedan to a stop in front of a small nondescript grey building. The only thing setting it apart from its equally desolate neighbours was the police tape across the entrance. “We’ve been trying to find out who owns this one, but so far, no luck.”

When they opened the car doors, the dry heat hit them full force. Steve was glad he was only wearing a light cotton shirt.

As they walked toward the building, joined by two patrolmen who had followed in a black&white, Bailey handed Steve a flashlight. “You’re gonna need this.”

The building was about one and a half storeys high, and the size of a service station. The windows, which had been covered with steel plates that now sat on the ground below them, were glassless black voids. The steel-reinforced door was caved in, but enough of it remained to offer some impediment to access.

Bailey preceded Steve to the door where he stopped, shot the young man a concerned glance, snapped on his flashlight and stepped through the doorway. With a deep steadying breath, Steve followed.

Even with the strong sunlight pouring in from the windows, the place was dark and oppressive. The light seemed to fall onto the floor and stay there – there was no bounce; the walls remained black and it was hard to make out any detail.

Taking his first deep breath, Steve was almost overwhelmed by the stench; he began to cough and brought a hand up to cover his mouth and nose.

“Here…try this.” Bailey was holding out a small blue bottle of Vicks. Steve met his eyes, nodded, dipped a forefinger into the bottle and smeared the greasy unguent under his nose.

Bailey let Steve lead the way. The younger man panned his flashlight beam around the large room, but at first there was nothing to see – concrete floors and walls. In one corner there was a small ‘room’ and they made their way over.

At the doorway they stopped, their narrow beams of light barely illuminating the disturbing scene. What had once been a small bathroom was now a true nightmare; the toilet was overflowing and the sink was black with mold. It was painfully obvious that there were no functioning water or sewage lines and hadn’t been for a long time.

Bailey saw Steve’s free hand go to his mouth as he suppressed a dry heave. He heard a small involuntary whimper as the younger man turned away. 

Bailey followed. His light crossed the room and settled on what looked like a pile of garbage, most of it neatly stacked. It took a few seconds for Steve to realize that this was the remains of everything that John Martin had delivered, and a small grateful smile played briefly across his lips.

Bailey, though he could barely see his companion’s face in the dim light, sensed the change in mood. He moved his light again, this time playing it over what looked like a small bed, piled with sheets and a blanket, wedged into a corner. They approached it slowly.

“This was where we found him,” Bailey said softly. When Steve made no reply, he decided that now might just be the time to finally tell him the full story.

“We got here about 10 in the morning. My partner Don was with me, and a couple of unies.

“We couldn’t get in the place at first – what with the steel plates over the windows and that heavy metal door. But we knew we had to get in as soon as possible.

“There was a front-end loader just down the block and one of the unie cops, Davis, had worked construction as a student and knew how to operate it. He drove it straight into the door.”

Bailey dropped his flashlight beam, then turned it off. “I was the first one in. I was almost overcome by the smell, and you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. We armed ourselves with flashlights and fanned out.

“Don found him. All I heard was this sadly quiet, ‘He’s over here.’” Bailey hesitated and took a deep breath.

“He was on his stomach and facing the wall... he was still wearing his shirt and pants but they were filthy… he wasn’t moving…we thought he was – “ Bailey stopped, not wanting to put the thought into words. Gathering himself, he continued, “I leaned over him and put a hand on his back… I expected him to feel cold, stiff…” Bailey’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat, “but he was warm, almost too warm.” He paused.

“After that, it was just a blur. We yelled for the ambulance; I got on the bed and rolled him over. His eyes were slightly open, he was barely conscious and I remember Don telling everyone to turn off their flashlights – the light in his eyes, of course…

“He grabbed my arm, the strength caught me by surprise, and he whispered, ‘I’m Mike Stone – I need to call my daughter and my partner’…”

Bailey was staring at the bed, loathe to make eye contact with his companion. He knew how devastating it must be to hear this. He heard the young inspector inhale deeply, raggedly.

“We knew we had to get him outside, into some fresh air. He insisted he could stand – my first encounter with the now-infamous Stone stubbornness.” Bailey allowed himself a slight chuckle. “Don was worried about his eyes; we had to protect him.

“We had no way of knowing how long he’d been in the dark, so we couldn’t take any chances. That’s when we knew luck was really on our side – a state trooper had stopped when he saw our cars. Moreno’s his name – and he was wearing a pair of those really heavy dark glasses.

“We got the glasses on Mike, and Moreno’s trooper’s hat with the wide brim – and between Moreno and Davis, who are both big guys, we got him to his feet and out to a patrol car. We sat him on the back seat with the air conditioning going full blast until the ambulance showed up a few minutes later.

“He was so thin and so weak, but he kept smiling at all of us and thanking us, even when he couldn’t stop coughing. Any one of us would have stepped in front of a bullet for him then, and we didn’t even know him.” Bailey stopped suddenly and caught his breath, his eyes filling with tears at the memory. Struggling to keep his voice steady, he finished quietly, “He broke our hearts…”

He felt Steve grip his arm and squeeze. “It will take the rest of my life to thank you for what you’ve done,” the inspector said softly.

When Bailey found his voice, he answered, “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time.”

They stood for awhile in silence, both trying to imagine what it would have been like trying to survive in that hellhole for over three months. It terrified them to their very cores.

Eventually Steve asked, “Do you have any idea when the power went out, or if there was even power to begin with?” He had noticed the lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room.

Bailey switched his flashlight back on. “We have some idea.” He played the beam up the wall above the bed. There, etched into the cracked paint, were hash marks, five groups of seven, than then three individual marks underneath.

“Figuring he started counting the day he got here, or nearabouts, we’re figuring he had power for a little over five weeks. He probably stopped marking the wall when the light went out…”

Steve inhaled deeply then spoke, his voice even and deliberate. “So he was in complete darkness for at least seven weeks, probably longer.”

“That’s what we’re assuming – that’s why we were so worried about his eyes when we got him out of here.”

Bailey waited for Steve to respond, but when he didn’t, they just stood in companionable silence. After a couple of minutes, Steve snapped his flashlight off and turned to his companion. “I’m ready to go,” he said simply, and began to walk to the exit.

# # # # #

Even before he pushed the door open, Steve could hear Jeannie’s laughter. He hesitated for a second, relishing the sound. He shook himself, trying to throw off the gloom and adopt a more positive attitude. As he opened the door, he was relieved and delighted to see father and daughter poring over a backgammon board.

Two pairs of happy eyes turned in his direction. With a huge smile, he crossed the room, his eyes riveted on the bed’s occupant. 

“Wow,” he laughed, “you look great – forty years younger…”

Jeannie looked back at her father. “Doesn’t he look wonderful? I mean, he’s still really thin – “

“But Mike Stone is back,” Steve finished for her, still shaking his head in disbelief.

“See, it is me,” said Mike with a grin, gesturing at himself. His voice was still thin and weak, but the indestructible attitude was very much there. “So,” he wagged an index finger at his partner, “no more ‘Rip” cracks, okay?”

“What?” said Jeannie with a frown, looking from one partner to the other.

Steve laughed. “Nothing. Private joke.”

When Steve continued to stare at Mike, and as his face grew serious, Jeannie took a final look at her father, who was steadily meeting his partner’s gaze, cleared her throat and stood. Both father and daughter knew where Steve had been that day, and she could sense the impact it had had on the young man.

“I’ll give you two some time…” she said quietly as she walked to the door and let herself out.

Steve pulled Jeannie’s chair closer to the bed as Mike pushed away the hospital tray with the game board on it. Before he sat, Steve stared down at his now clean-shaven partner, and a small, gentle smiled played over his lips. He ran his fingertips lightly over Mike’s now hairless cheek and shook his head in wonder.

As Steve sat, Mike reached out and placed his hand on the back of his young friend’s neck, holding him lovingly. Tears brightened his eyes. 

As Mike took his hand away, Steve caught it and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of Mike’s hand and then held it, and as they stared at each other, Steve felt the hot tears coursing down his cheeks.

They sat that way for a long time.


	14. Chapter 14

John Martin had been sitting alone in the interrogation room for almost an hour. Bailey had brought him to the station earlier that morning, but hadn’t told him why.

Martin glanced around the stark room once more – at the obvious two-way mirror, the institutional grey metal table and chairs, the bare walls. He wondered if every interrogation room looked the same.

Suddenly the door opened and two men he had never seen before walked in. Without saying a word, they crossed to the two chairs opposite him. The younger one took off his rather loudly patterned sportscoat and slung it over the back of the chair before he sat, patting down his tie and flipping open his notebook in one smooth motion.

The older man just sat and leaned back, arms crossed, and stared at him. Martin looked quickly away from the intense blue-eyed scrutiny but not before he noticed that the man looked unnaturally thin, ill even, and that the dark blue suit hung loosely on him. ‘Cancer?’, thought Martin. ‘Poor bastard.’

The younger one looked up from his notebook and quickly cleared his throat. “John Martin Is it?” he asked pleasantly enough, meeting Martin’s wary gaze evenly.

Martin nodded quickly, nervously. “Yes, sir.”

The younger one smiled. “I’m Inspector Keller, this is Lieutenant Stone,” he indicated his colleague with a quick tilt of his head. “We’re with the San Francisco Police Department.”

Martin’s eyes swung briefly to the older man but the blue-eyed stare completely unnerved him and he looked again into the friendlier green eyes of the inspector. “San Francisco?” 

The inspector (‘Keller, was it?’) nodded with a smile. “Homicide Division.”

Martin swallowed. “Homicide?” he repeated softly. “Does this have something to do with the …?” Martin started slowly.

“The warehouse?” Keller finished quickly for him. “Yes, it does.”

“Jeez, no one said anything about a homicide. I didn’t think the… I told Sgt. Bailey everything I know about that. I don’t know anything…”

“Oh, we know,” the inspector interrupted again “And we appreciate that, we really do. We’re here on a somewhat different matter.” He paused.

Martin’s eyes flicked nervously from one cop to the other and back again. “A different matter?” he asked slowly.

“Yes. You see, Sgt. Bailey and his team are handling things here, and the FBI is going to take over the kidnapping aspect of it –“

“Kidnapping?” It was Martin’s turn to interrupt.

Keller looked up from his notebook and met the older man’s eyes evenly. “Yes,” he nodded. “The person in that warehouse was from San Francisco.” When Martin didn’t respond, he continued, “You didn’t know that?”

“Uh, no,” said Martin nervously, glancing once more into the blue-eyed stare. “Ya gotta believe me…”

“Oh, we do, we do.” Keller glanced at his colleague and for the tiniest second, Martin thought he saw the younger one smile…

Into an uncomfortable silence, Martin ventured, “So, did you guys know…?” He left it hanging.

Keller looked up and nodded. “Oh, yeah. It was a cop, actually,” he said casually and Martin caught his breath.

“A cop?” he repeated as he felt his heart sink into his stomach.

The inspector nodded and smiled. The blue-eyed stare hadn’t wavered and Martin felt himself withering.

“Did you…I mean, do you know him?” Martin asked tentatively.

This time they both nodded.

“Yeah,” said the younger one, “as a matter of fact, he’s my partner.”

Martin leaned forward and let his head hang. “Ah, jeez,” he moaned, shaking his head, “your partner, jeez…” He froze then raised his head slowly. The inspector was leaning back now, with a wide grin. When Martin met his eyes, he nodded, and with raised eyebrows and a tilt of his head, indicated the man to his left.

When Martin’s eyes shifted, the lieutenant’s hard blue-eyed stare dissolved, and a dazzling smile transformed his entire face. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.

Martin stared in disbelief, wide-eyed. “You?” he mouthed silently, a hand coming up to point.

Stone nodded, and began to get to his feet. Keller stood quickly and put a hand to his colleague’s elbow, helping him up, a gesture not lost on the still stunned man across the table.

“Mr. Martin,” said Stone in as strong a voice as he could muster. “I owe you my life, sir,” he continued as he circled the table toward the now totally flabbergasted little man.

Martin scrambled to his feet, the chair scrapping the floor in his haste. He held out his hand, and tall detective took it in both of his, pumped twice then pulled the smaller man into his arms.

# # # # # 

Steve knew what it felt like to be enveloped in a Mike Stone hug, so he just stood back and smiled. He glanced at the window – he knew Bailey and the rest were on the other side, just as delighted, just as pleased and just as touched as he was.

Mike and Martin pulled apart, and the small man looked up into those previously terrifying blue eyes. “It really was you?” he asked, the words seeming to catch in his throat.

Mike nodded. “It really was.”

Suddenly Martin seemed to realize why this man looked so ill. He grabbed his chair and pulled it forward. “Please sit,” he insisted.

Mike almost started to protest but stopped, moved by the gesture. He nodded and sat, indicating the now empty chairs across the table. “Please, join me.”

Martin grabbed a chair, pulled it around the table to in front of Mike and sat, leaning forward. “Look,” he said urgently, “I gotta tell ya, I am so sorry –“

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mike interrupted quietly. “What you did… I can’t begin to thank you for what you did…”

As Mike continued to talk, Steve eased himself towards the door and quietly slipped out. He joined Sgt. Bailey and two other men at the window. “They need some time to talk,” he said softly and Bailey reached up to switch off the intercom then turned to Steve, wide-eyed.

“Oh…my…god,” he said with a laugh, “I thought I was gonna lose it. I seriously thought I was going to burst out laughing and you’d hear me through the door.”

Steve grinned. “Of course, the clothes didn’t help – Mike looks like an 8-year-old wearing his dad’s suit and that used-car salesman’s jacket I was wearing…?”

“Hey,” laughed Bailey, “what did you expect? It was the best we could do on such short notice!”

“Nevertheless, that was impressive,” offered Captain Ron Bennett, APD’s head of Robbery-Homicide. “You could almost hear the tumblers snapping into place in Martin’s head as he put it together.”

“I’ll say,” echoed the third man, Chief of Detectives Calvin Robinson. “I’d love to see you two in action when he’s a hundred percent.” He nodded towards the window.

Steve laughed. “Mike never wavered; I don’t even think he blinked. The one time I looked at him, I almost lost it so I didn’t dare look at him again.” He was staring through the window at his partner, and Bailey was struck by the naked affection he could see in the young man’s eyes. “That was fun,” Steve said quietly, almost to himself.

Into the silence that followed, Robinson interjected, “So, I hear you all are leaving tomorrow?”

Steve turned from the window. “Yeah, the doctor’s have cleared him so we’re gonna take him home.”

“What time is your flight?” asked Bennett.

“Just before noon. We took the later one so Mike could make the rounds and thank everybody. We didn’t want to rush him.”

“Well, we’re gonna miss him,” said Bailey with a sigh. “It’s been a real breath of fresh air having something so potentially tragic turn out so well.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Robinson. “The force has been through some rough times recently, but this has helped morale immeasurably.” He looked at Steve. “I know, for legal and personal reasons, we haven’t gone public with this, but our members all know about it and, to a man, it has restored a bit of faith in the system. And for that I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me,” said Steve, nodded toward the window, “thank that little guy in there. Who would have thought it, hunh? A con with a conscience.”

# # # # #

Bailey was behind the wheel as the maroon Galaxy left the police department parking lot, heading for the airport. “We drive these too,” said Mike from the back seat. “Dependable.”

“Functional,” Steve added dryly.

Jeannie turned to Bailey from across the front seat. “They’ve never agreed about the cars,” she offered.

Bailey chuckled and threw another glance into the rear view mirror. Mike was barely visible under the visor of the Albuquerque Dukes baseball cap. APD members had chipped in to buy him the hat and a Dukes t-shirt and jacket, as well as khaki pants and sneakers – everything but the sneakers two sizes too large so he wouldn’t ‘out-grow’ them when he was back to his normal weight.

Mike was grateful and more than a little touched by the gesture, even though the Dukes were the Triple A affiliate for the L.A. Dodgers, his beloved Giants most-hated rivals. And as he, Steve and Jeannie had ‘made their rounds’ that morning, starting at the hospital, for thanks and goodbyes, he wore the Dukes outfit with pride.

At her father’s request, Jeannie had purchased a few dozen boxes of chocolates, and the three made their way slowly to those instrumental in Mike’s care and treatment. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, and even the ambulance crew, were contacted, thanked, and, as Jeannie put it, “chocolated”. There were more than a few tears.

Escorted by Bailey, the trio then stalked the halls of APD headquarters, where every officer they could locate was given the same treatment.

As they were leaving the building, a State Trooper’s car pulled up, and the big, dark-glasses-wearing Trooper Moreno stepped out. “I was almost half-way across the state,” he laughed, only half-joking, “but I couldn’t let you leave without this.” He stopped in front of Mike and shot him a crisp salute, his left hand holding out a small black box.

Mike, taken aback for a split second, returned the salute and took the box. He opened it and chuckled, taking out a pair of very black dark glasses. Grinning, he held out his hand. “Thank you.”

As Moreno shook Mike’s hand, he said warmly, “It’s good to see you looking better, sir.”

“Mike, Trooper…it’s Mike.”

“Enrique, sir…I mean, Mike…sir…” he finished with an embarrassed shrug. Moreno looked at Bailey. “Are you on your way to the airport?”

“Yep,” Bailey nodded.

“Good,” said Moreno, “my jurisdiction. How about an official New Mexican escort?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” agreed Bailey.

“I’d like that, Enrique” said Mike, as the young trooper puffed with pride.

“Then it would be my honour….Mike.”

# # # # #

“I thought Bailey was going to cry,” Steve said as he handed Mike the cup of coffee he’d taken from the stewardess.

“He’s a good man,” Mike answered as he put the cup on the tray table. “I owe him as much as I owe Martin.”

“Well, I invited him and his wife to come visit us sometime, show him around the city. And I think he might take me up on it.”

“I hope so,” said Mike, taking a sip of the coffee. His melancholy stare out the window was not lost on his seatmate.

Steve knew Mike was having mixed feelings about his return to San Francisco. Steve was a little worried too. He had called Devitt the previous evening with details of their return, and to get the captain to ensure that there would be no welcoming committee at either the airport or Mike’s house. It was still too soon.

Now he could only hope that word had not gotten out and well-meaning friends and colleagues had congregated at either place.

“Look, ah,” Steve began, “I know we haven’t talked about this yet…”

Mike eyed him warily.

“This is purely for me and not necessarily for you, but…if your couch is available…I’d like…”

Mike grinned. “If you weren’t gonna offer, I was gonna ask,” he interrupted.

Steve smiled and patted the back of his hand. “As long as you need me.”

Mike swallowed, the haunted look from before briefly flashing across his face. He turned to the window again.

Steve knew when the San Francisco skyline eventually came into view – Mike inhaled sharply and stiffened in his seat. Suddenly the older man was jolted by a thump on the back of his seat.

Mike sighed. “Yes, Jeannie, I see it.” The thumping continued. “You can stop kicking my seat now,” Mike ordered, but the smile in his voice was evident. Still the thumping continued. Mike raised his voice even more. “Am I gonna have to come back there, young lady?” he growled. Then both men chuckled at the girlish giggle that came from the row behind them.

# # # #

Steve was relieved to see only Devitt waiting for them in the concourse. The captain was delighted to see how much better Mike looked, even though everyone knew he still had a long way to go.

Mike grew quieter the closer they got to his house, and by the time the Galaxy pulled to the curb in front of the De Haro address, he was silent.

Jeannie threw Steve a concerned look across the back seat as Mike opened the front passenger door and got out. He stood stock still on the sidewalk, staring up at the house. 

Giving him a few moments to collect himself, Jeannie crossed to her father and took his arm, and together father and daughter slowly and wordlessly climbed the steps to their front door.

Steve got their bags from the trunk, told Devitt he would talk to him soon, and followed at a distance.

Jeannie had her keys in her hand and unlocked the front door, then stood aside for her father to enter first. Mike stepped across the threshold and stopped, looking around slowly. Jeannie and Steve stood on the landing, waiting, worried.

Eventually Mike turned to them and smiled. “I never thought I’d see this old place again.” He suddenly seemed to notice their serious expressions, and his smile grew even wider. “What are you standing out there for? Come on in!”

# # # # #

A couple of hours later, the remains of two pizzas – one with anchovies, one without – sodas, beers and a wine bottle littering the living room, the trio was relaxing in a post-dinner lethargy.

It had been a good day all around, and while everyone was tired, especially Mike, no one wanted the day to end. Steve glanced at his watch. So much had happened already and it was only shortly after six!

It was Mike who finally broke the easy silence. “You know what I’d like?” he seemed to ask no one in particular.

Steve finished his sip of beer before inquiring, “What?”

Mike hesitated for a second before continuing slowly. “I’d like to stand in the shower for half an hour and wash the last three months off me for good.”

Steve heard Jeannie catch her breath with a small whimper. He felt his own heart pounding in his ears – he knew what Mike had lived through and he couldn’t begin to fathom what his partner must be feeling.

He sat up from where he had been reclining and put the beer bottle down with a thud. “I can do something about that,” he said with conviction as he stood. “Michael, come with me.”

Mike looked at the young man and smiled. Slowly he got to his feet and crossed to the stairs, Steve close on his heels, arms partially out-stretched, protective, ready in case Mike stumbled or lost his balance. As they climbed beyond the level of the second floor, Steve glanced back at Jeannie, and grinned and winked. She heard them go into the bathroom and the door shut.

Once again marveling at the bond they shared, she crossed quietly to the stairs and tiptoed to the second floor landing, content to sit on the top step and listen to the murmur of their voices through the bathroom door.

# # # # #

“Here, let me give you a hand.” Steve helped Mike pull the t-shirt over his head, then undid his belt. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he instructed as he knelt and helped Mike step out of his pants and undershorts. He was still appalled at how thin his partner was; hip bones, ribs and collarbone still very visible. But Steve had learned to mask his concern.

Steve turned on the shower and when he was satisfied the temperature was right, he opened the curtain. “Get in.” He helped Mike into the tub. “Brace yourself against the wall.” Mike did as he was told, letting the warm water fall onto his head and cascade down his body.

Seconds later he heard the curtain open and close again, and Steve was there, in the shower beside him. “Just stand there,” Steve said simply. “Close your eyes.” Mike felt Steve’s hands on his head and could feel and smell the shampoo being rubbed into his hair.

Mike’s small groan of pleasure made Steve smile, even as the water bounced into his face. Slowly, with infinite gentleness, Steve began to wash the horrors of the past one hundred days from his partner’s body. Mike stood, eyes closed and breathing deeply, one hand on the tile wall, and let the warm water and tender ministrations flood over him.

“Turn around,” Steve instructed after awhile. Mike faced away from the showerhead, the water now on his back. Steve began to rub the washcloth across Mike’s shoulders, trying not to look at the all-too-visible ribs and vertebrae.

Mike’s head was down, allowing the water to bounce off the back of his neck. Suddenly his deep breaths became shallower and he began to shake. The shakes rapidly turned to heaves, and Steve could hear him gasping for air.

Instantly aware of what was going on, Steve dropped the washcloth and put his hands under Mike’s arms. He felt the older man’s knees buckle and braced himself to take the weight.

“Go down, go down,” he said quickly. And as Mike folded up on the bottom of the tub, Steve did as well. He managed to turn them both as Mike collapsed so that he was lying against the back of the tub instead of the faucet.

He pulled the broken man into his arms, Mike’s head against his chest. He rested a cheek on the top of Mike’s head and wrapped both arms around the thin, shaking body. “Let it out, let it out, let it out,” he crooned softly, soothingly, as he rocked them ever so slightly.

And as Mike’s sobs filled the small, steam-filled room, Steve Keller held onto his partner for dear life, his own tears mixing seamlessly with the warm shower that continued to bathe them both.

# # # # # 

Jeannie had risen from the top step and was just about to return to the living room when she heard it. She hadn’t heard her father cry since her Mom had died, and then he had been alone in the confines of his room – he never knew his daughter had been sitting on the floor outside his door.

Once more the sound pierced her heart, and she crossed slowly the bathroom door and slid to the floor. Then, with despair and grief borne out of helplessness, she laid her head against the door and wept.


	15. Chapter 15

When Jeannie heard the bedroom door close, she got up from the armchair and crossed to the kitchen. As Steve slowly sat on one end of the couch, she re-emerged with a cup of tea, put it on the coffee table in front of him, and curled up at the other end.

She studied the young man’s somber expression. “Is he okay?” she asked quietly.

Steve hesitated a moment before answering. “No,” he said simply, then looked up into her worried eyes. A tiny encouraging smile managed to surface before he added, “But he will be.”

He took a sip of tea, and she waited, knowing he needed to say more. She had made a pact with herself in Albuquerque that she wouldn’t let either of the men in her life see her cry – they didn’t need the extra burden of worrying about her right now.

If Mike found that at this point in time he needed to confide only in his partner, then she would be the rock on which Steve could lean. This seemed to be one of those moments, and she was determined to be the confidant he needed.

“Jeannie,” he started finally, “it might be a long time till your Dad’s alright. And I think we have to prepare ourselves for the possibility he might never be the same again.”

She let that disturbing thought sink in. “Steve,” she began quietly, “what was it like –?“

“No,” he cut her off firmly, meeting her startled stare evenly. “I’m sorry, Jeannie, but no. If your Dad ever wants you to know about what happened, it’s up to him to tell you, not me.”

She sighed and nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She took a sip of her own tea. “Have you given him the ring yet?”

Steve leaned back, cradling the mug in both hands. He shook his head. “No. It hasn’t felt right yet… We really haven’t spoken about the last three months at all. I think he’s got to put more distance between that reality and this one. I’m working off his timetable right now – we’re going at his speed.”

“Is there anything more we can do to help, you think? Other than just being there for him?”

Steve shook his head. “I dunno. I think I’m gonna try to see Lenny Murchison – the department’s shrink?” Jeannie nodded. “- and see if he can give me any ideas. I just feel so god-damned useless right now.”

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re not useless,” she said quickly, emphatically. “He’s relying on you one hundred percent and you’re there for him every second. I don’t know what either of us would do without you here.”

They shared the silence for a bit, then she saw him smile and an almost soundless chuckle escaped his lips. She smiled. “What?”

He coughed self-consciously. “I was just thinking about yesterday, our ‘interrogation’ of John Martin. For just those few minutes, the old Mike Stone was back in the room with me.” He filled her in on the details, and was warmed by her laughter. He let his head drop back onto the couch. “It felt so good…like old times.” 

Jeannie leaned forward and patted his leg. “We’ll get that Mike back.”

Steve looked at her and nodded.

She looked around the room. “I’m always amazed at how three people can completely trash a room in one evening. Can you give me a hand? I want to get this cleaned up a bit and then get to bed. I’ve got a lot of shopping to do. I’m gonna cook a pot roast for us tomorrow night.”

“Home cookin’, that’s what we all need.” Steve smiled as he rose and started picking up plates.

“When we’re done here I’ll get the sheets and pillows and make up the couch,” she said as she picked up the pizza boxes.

“Uhm,” Steve hesitated, “I’ll take the sheets and pillows but I’m gonna sleep on the floor in Mike’s room.” At her questioning look he continued, “He was waking up in a panic every night in the hospital. And I got Devitt to pick me up a night-light. I don’t think your father will be able to sleep in the dark for a long time.”

“Steve…?”

“That’s all I’m gonna say,” he finished flatly. “Come on, let’s get this place cleaned up.” Plates in hand, he started for the kitchen then stopped. She watched as he turned slowly towards her. He slumped slightly and an awe-filled smile lit up his face. “Jeannie…Mike’s upstairs,” he whispered.

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears as she nodded and returned the smile, knowing exactly how he felt. Still grinning, he turned once more towards the kitchen. She watched him for several seconds, her heart breaking, before she could move again.

# # # # #

Everyone was surprised to see Steve in the office the next morning, and he fielded a raft of questions before he could break free and make a call to Lenny Murchison.

The psychiatrist agreed to see him right away. When Lenny had heard that Mike had been found, and had received a description of the conditions he had been kept in for so long, he had done some research.

But unfortunately, as he told Steve, there was nothing that he could offer that would be of any help. The POW’s of WWII, Korea and Vietnam had been incarcerated under totally different circumstances; what Mike had gone through was closer to solitary confinement in a penitentiary. But even then, prisoners have light and some contact with their guards. Mike had had neither of these.

“Frankly, I’m surprised he’s functioning at all,” Lenny told Steve.

He did agree that Steve should continue to be the point man on anything concerning Mike. And he reassured him that he was definitely on the right path in letting the older man set the pace and tone for his own recovery.

“We don’t know how it’s going to go, Steve. But I will tell you this – it’s not going to be smooth and easy, as much as we want it to. Mike is too strong a personality, and I’m sure this has stripped him to his very soul. It has to have.

“From what I know of Mike after all these years, he’s going to try to hide what he’s going through behind a mask of normality, and for the most part, I believe he’s going to pull it off. But he won’t be able to maintain it forever, and he’ll crack. And it won’t be easy to watch.”

Steve nodded slowly. “We’ve already had one of those,” he said quietly.

Lenny’s eyebrows shot up. “And you got through it okay?”

“It was hard. I’ve never felt so useless.”

“But you were there with him?”

Steve nodded.

“Then you did all you could have done. When the breakdowns happen, and they probably will for quite awhile, he just needs someone to be there, so he knows he’s not alone.

“He’s not expecting you to be the one to get him through this. He’s a smart guy; he knows he has to do this by himself. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. Those are two different things.”

Lenny smiled encouragingly. “There will be highs and there will be lows. Just be there for him and ride it out with him. If we’re lucky, the depths of those lows will start getting shallower and shallower, get closer to the baseline, so to speak.”

He paused then shrugged apologetically. “Basically, Steve, I’m just telling you to keep doing what you’re doing. It sounds to me like your instincts have been spot on. He’s lucky to have you.”

Lenny wasn’t much for compliments and Steve accepted this one with a self-conscious nod. “I’m the lucky one,” he said softly, his voice cracking, “I got him back.”

# # # # #

When Steve opened the front door, the welcoming smell of pot roast enveloped him. Frank Sinatra crooned from the stereo and he could hear voices in the kitchen.

He stepped into the warm glow of the doorway to survey the room. Jeannie, wearing an apron and ear-to-ear grin, was at the stove, stirring a pot. Mike was standing at the table, slowly and carefully laying out the three place settings.

Mike was the first to see him, and a smile split his face. “Hey, the prodigal returns.”

Steve chuckled. “Just what I like coming home to – a scene of domestic bliss.”

Jeannie turned from the stove. “Your timing is perfect; we’re eating in a few minutes.”

“Just enough time for a glass of wine,” said Mike, turning to the fridge.

“You’re having a glass of wine?” Steve asked, noticing two already poured wineglasses on the table.

“You sound aghast,” Mike chuckled and turned to his daughter. “I’ve always wanted to use that word.” She laughed and Steve rolled his eyes. Mike turned back to his partner as he took the bottle out of the fridge and reached for another wineglass. “I’m thin, I’m not sick.”

“Gotcha,” nodded Steve with a chuckle as he accepted the glass.

“Okay, you two, out of the kitchen unless you’re going to help.”

“I’m helping,” protested Mike, turning back to the table.

“And I’m going to ‘freshen up’”, laughed Steve, leaving his glass on the table and turning to leave the room. He bounced up the steps to the second floor. This was a high, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

# # # # #

The next few weeks passed in basically the same manner. Steve went to work during the day, occasionally staying late into the evening. Mike spent his days puttering around the house, reading and venturing out for short walks when he felt strong enough. Jeannie took care of them both, but as the days wore on, she found she could leave her Dad alone more and more often and spent time shopping or with friends.

Physically Mike was putting on weight but at a very slow pace. He had regained only twelve of the forty pounds he needed, but although he still looked too thin, he had lost the sickly pallor, and his doctor was pleased with his progress. Stamina remained an issue though, and many nights he was in bed before Steve even came home.

The nightmares were starting to recede. He’d only had one in the past five nights, and Steve had been able to rouse him by just calling his name instead of the physical contact needed before. Steve was now sleeping on the couch in the living room, and was contemplating finally going home.

Mike still showed no sign of wanting to talk about what had happened, and Steve with fine with that, for the time being. But when Mike showed no interest in the cases he was working on or in visiting the office to see anyone there, Steve began to worry a little.

Since the shower incident, there had been no major breakdowns that Steve had witnessed, and he began to think, and hope, that Lenny had been wrong. That was until he got to the De Haro house one evening to find Jeannie waiting for him at the door. He knew as soon as he saw her stricken face that something was very wrong.

“He’s in his room,” she said quickly before he could ask. “I don’t know what’s wrong. He was sitting in the living room watching TV and I was in the kitchen cooking. All of a sudden I heard him get out of his chair really fast and bolt up the stairs, slamming the door. I went up stairs and knocked, and he just shouted at me not to come in and not to bother him. He sounded frantic, scared even.”

She caught her breath. “Steve, that was over an hour ago. I’m afraid to go in. I don’t want to make it worse. I’ve been waiting for you…”

“You should have called.”

“I thought he’d get over it and eventually come out. That’s what’s happened before, you know that… This time is just seems so much worse…”

Steve took her into a brief hug. “I’ll go see him.” He dropped his keys on the table by the door and took off his jacket before climbing the stairs. He approached the closed bedroom door soundlessly.

Hearing no noise from within, he knocked softly. “Mike? It’s me, it’s Steve. Can I come in?” 

When there was no answer, he waited a few seconds then knocked again. “Mike?” He strained to hear any response over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, fear making his heart race. But when there was still nothing, he reached for the knob and opened the door slowly, not knowing what to expect.

The lights were off but there was still enough evening glow to partially illuminate the room. The bed was empty. It was still made and the covers showed no sign of being disturbed.

Steve quietly closed the door and circled the bed. Mike was sitting on the floor, his back to the nightstand. His arms were folded atop his upraised knees, his head down. His open eyes stared into nothingness.

Keeping his distance, slipping off his shoes, Steve lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the carpet. Mike didn’t move, but Steve knew his appearance had not gone unnoticed.

Steve watched the older man’s deep, even breaths, reassured that, physically at least, Mike was okay. Eventually he asked softly, “What was it this time?”

No response.

“A sound? A smell?”

Finally Mike’s head came up slowly and he inhaled deeply. Steve could see that his eyes were moist and the streaks of now-dried tears were visible on his cheeks.

Mike shook his head slowly, not meeting his partner’s eyes. “I’m not sure…I don’ even know…”

From what he had read on the subject, Steve knew that something as innocent as an insignificant noise or the barest whiff of a certain odor could send someone into an uncontrollable flashback. In Mike’s case, the chance that it would be a visual trigger was very small.

Mike let his head fall back hard against the nightstand, seemingly oblivious to the impact. Steve winced slightly in empathy.

“I am so tired of all of this,” Mike sighed heavily, running a weary hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Tired of what?” Steve asked quietly, knowing that finally getting Mike to talk about what he was going through was another step in the right direction for them all.

“Everything. Of being a coward about all this…about letting it beat me...”

It took every bit of Steve’s willpower not to jump in and argue but he knew he had to hold his tongue right now, as painful as this was to hear.

“I always thought I was stronger than this,” Mike continued, his voice laced with pain and disappointment. “But every time I think I have a handle on it, on what it’s done to me, something triggers a memory and I’m dragged right back there…”

A pause, heavy breaths. “I can’t do it anymore.” He was rubbing his temple with the shaking fingers of his left hand, staring unfocused at the floor.

Trying to keep his voice strong and neutral, Steve waited several seconds before asking, “How long has it been since the last time?”

Still continuing to rub his temple, Mike shook his head absentmindedly. “I dunno, three, four days…”

Steve grabbed at the straw, sitting up a little straighter. “They were coming closer together before that, right?” He had witnessed a few of these flashbacks, none of which had seemed to be as disturbing as this one.

Mike nodded, still not making eye contact.

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it? If they’re starting to come further apart, that’s telling me you’re starting to get a grip on this. Like the nightmares. Am I right?”

As the words sunk in, Mike raised his eyes and met his partner’s for the first time. In the familiar blue eyes there was a heartbreaking trace of hope.

Steve smiled encouragingly. “It seems to me you’re starting to beat this thing, Michael.” He tipped his head back and took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. He made a decision. “I want you to do me a favour.”

At Mike’s curiously suspicious look, he smiled and continued. “Anytime you start to feel that you’re being overwhelmed, and I’m not with you, I want you to hold onto something and think about me, and Jeannie, and all the good things you’ve still got in your life.”

He reached into his pocket. “There’s a story behind this,” he continued, “but we’re not going to talk about that right now. This isn’t the time nor the place. That’ll come.”

He held out a closed fist. “Give me your hand.”

Mike slowly, almost reluctantly, held out his right hand, palm up. Staring into the wary blue eyes, Steve put his fist over Mike’s hand and opened his fingers. Mike felt something light drop onto his palm.

Steve grinned as he took his hand away. Mike’s eyes had traveled down to the object in his hand, and suddenly everything drained from his face but a stunned blank stare. He swallowed heavily, his eyes snapping up to meet his partner’s. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Steve continued to grin. “I’ve had it for awhile. It just didn’t feel like the right time to give it to you until now.” For a second, he hesitated, suddenly unsure how Mike was going to react.

Mike stared again at the ring, biting his lower lip. He slowly closed his fist and looked up at his companion. “Where did you get it?” he asked softly.

Steve’s grin wavered and he shook his head slightly. “Not right now. Believe me, this is not the time. When it’s right, I’ll tell you the whole story, I promise. Okay?”

Mike knew he wasn’t ready to hear everything so he just nodded. He brought his fist to his mouth and closed his eyes, resting the backs of his fingers against his lips, taking deep, shaky breaths.

Steve watched silently, both relieved and delighted at his friend’s reaction – and grateful that his belief that the ring was actually Mike’s had been confirmed.

Eventually Mike opened his eyes and looked at his young friend. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Steve’s grin returned. “You’re welcome.” After a second, he continued, “Oh, you might want to keep that in your pocket for awhile, like I did, until you gain enough weight to keep it on.

“But I want you to promise me that whenever you feel overwhelmed by anything, when a sound or a smell or something you see triggers one of those memories, you reach for that ring and you hold onto it.”

He stopped and took a deep breath, the grin fading. He dropped his eyes. “I can’t begin to tell you the number of times I had to do that these past few months.” He looked up. “As long as I had that ring, I had you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Mike smiled slightly. “I promise,” he said quietly.

Steve grinned. “Come on,” he said suddenly, “let’s get downstairs. Dinner’s almost ready and Jeannie’s worried as hell about you.” He got up and reached down to help pull the older man to his feet.

As they crossed the room, Mike slipped the ring into his pants pocket. He stopped at the door and turned to his young friend, now his rock, his salvation. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he asked simply.

Steve’s smile was warm and gentle. “You tell me every day.”


	16. Chapter 16

The ring turned out to be the catalyst for which they had all been waiting. Suddenly Mike seemed to find meaning in his life again, a purpose. Steve moved back home and even Jeannie was starting to make noises about returning to Tucson. Mike’s appetite improved even more, and it seemed to Steve he was making a concerted effort to gain enough weight so he could take the ring out of his pocket for good.

But though he still showed no sign of returning to work, Mike had had several meetings with the FBI agents who were handling the kidnapping aspect of his case, and even had a couple of talks with the SFPD brass.

Steve continued to work with Devitt and together they managed to solve some interesting cases, but he was chaffing under his desire to get back into harness with his one true partner. Truth be told, he missed working with Mike more than anything else in his life.

One evening in late September, he turned the Porsche onto Union, pleased to see a spot available in front of his apartment, and pulled the sports car to the curb.

He slammed the front door and kicked off his shoes and was just about to toss his jacket on the couch when there was a loud knock. Not expecting anyone, he opened the front door with a frown. There was no one there, but on the stoop was a case of beer and two wine bottles in a paper bag.

He looked up and down the block but couldn’t see anything until a familiar head emerged from the back door of a dark sedan. He hadn’t recognized his partner’s personal car parked further down the block.

Looking up with a huge smile, Mike caught his eye. “Bring that in,” he called. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

With a chuckle and shake of his head, Steve did as he was told. He had just put the case of beer on the floor and bag on the counter when Mike entered the kitchen with two large paper grocery bags. “What is all this?”

“Payback,” said Mike, depositing the bags on the counter. “And, ah, hopefully the beginning of the end…” he added quietly.

He turned to the younger man. “I found out what time you were leaving tonight, and also that you had tomorrow off, and I thought, well, tonight’s as good a time as any.” He hesitated. “When and if I decide to go back to work, I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if I was brought up to speed on everything that happened while I was…gone…”

He met Steve’s eyes evenly, soberly. “I think it’s time we talked.”

Steve, who had suppressed a wince at the “if” in Mike’s explanation, met the stare and held it. Slowly he smiled and nodded. Trying not to let his voice catch in this throat, he said quietly, “I think it’s time too.”

Mike gave one final nod, grinned and clapped his hands. “Great. So, in the pursuit of that endeavour – and please notice how my vocabulary has improved with all this time off I’ve had,” he interrupted himself with a twinkle in his voice, “I brought dinner.”

He announced everything as he took the items from the bags. “Steaks…baked potatoes – I hope you have butter, I bought chives and sour cream …asparagus – your favourite… brussel sprouts – my favourite…carrots – for a complementary colour on the plate…an apple pie and vanilla ice cream.” He tossed the container of ice cream to Steve, who, with a grin, put it in the freezer. “Oh, and you’ve seen the beer and wine.” He looked around the room, smiling. “Think that’s enough?”

Steve had watched the ‘presentation’ with bemusement – the old Mike Stone was standing in front of him once again. He laughed and rubbed his hands together, a gesture he had inadvertently picked up from his mentor. “This looks incredible. Where do we start? What do you want me to do?”

Pleased, Mike looked back at the pile of uncooked food on the counter. “How about you fire up the hibachi - I know you have one in the backyard – and cook those steaks, and I’ll handle all the other stuff. I’ve been watching Jeannie very closely these past few weeks and I’ve picked up a lot of good tips.”

As if by a mutual non-spoken decision, any talk of their recent lives apart was put off until dinner had been prepared and consumed. Instead they talked small – news, sports, weather, the food they were preparing. There was an abundance of laughter and both were reveling in the rediscovered pleasure of each other’s company.

Dirty pots, pans and dishes piled on the counter by the sink, the two satiated men retired to the living room. Mike was stretched out on the couch when Steve exited the kitchen with two beers. He handed one to the older man, then sat on the floor front and centre of the couch and leaned back against it.

He had sat there deliberately, knowing that not having to look at each other would most probably make the words flow more easily. He knew it would for him; he hoped it would for Mike.

He took a sip of his beer as the silence lengthened. “So,” he said finally, trying to keep the tone light, “who goes first?”

He felt Mike’s hand on his shoulder and a gentle squeeze. “What happened at the trial?”

Steve took a deep breath then began to speak, quietly and, hopefully, without too much emotion. He told Mike about Roy, Rudy and Gerry coming to him with news of the disappearance, of the decision to ask the judge for a continuance, the task force and their futile efforts to find him, the resumption of the trial.

Mike’s hand remained lightly on his shoulder throughout. When he began to talk about taking the stand and his voice faltered, the grip tightened and Steve found the support he needed to continue.

He spoke about how hard it was to testify but that he had found the strength to do so from a most unlikely source. Not mentioning Driscoll by name, he alluded to a confidant, someone who could hear him out and remain neutral.

Steve sat in silence for a bit, letting them both get control of their emotions. He could tell from the pressure of Mike’s fingers that the older man was having just as hard a time with all of this as he was.

“I always remembered what you told me about truth,” he said finally, quietly. “About how it’s the currency we deal in – how it’s the most important instrument we have. That without it we’re nothing, we’re hollow, we can’t exist.

“You once told me ‘The truth will always be the truth; it’s what we do with it that makes us who we are.’” He paused and Mike could feel him take a deep breath. “I knew that if I told the truth that I’d probably never see you again… but I really didn’t have a choice.” His voice wavered. “I am what you made me, Michael.”

He brought his hand up to cover Mike’s as the older man’s fingers dug into his shoulder. Steve leaned his head back against Mike’s hip and closed his eyes. He could hear his partner’s own struggle to take an even breath.

Eventually Mike’s grip relaxed and he slid his hand down to the front of Steve’s shoulder, patting his chest lightly. “I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he said in a voice stronger than he thought possible at the moment.

Steve inhaled sharply, his hands quickly coming up to cover his face briefly before he brought his palms together in front of his face and held them there. In profile, Mike could see his smile. “What?”

Steve shook his head. “Somebody told me you’d say that…it’s just…ah…” He couldn’t finish. Mike’s hand was on his shoulder again and he felt the squeeze. He cleared his throat, getting a grip on himself, and continued his narrative, relaying how he had convinced Jeannie to return to Tucson, how he started working with Devitt and how the squad had managed to hang together and carry on.

He finished talking, and they let the silence settle. Slowly Steve turned to face his partner and smiled. “And then I got the call…”

Mike smiled back, then nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He could only imagine what that must have been like. His hand drifted up from Steve’s shoulder to his face, cupping his chin. “Thank you,” he said simply, “I needed to hear all that.”

They stared at each other for a beat, then Steve picked up the empty beer bottles from the floor. “We need a refill,” he said as he stood and walked to the kitchen. He wanted to give Mike a few moments alone to gather himself; the next hour or so would be amongst the hardest in his life.

Mike closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He knew what he was about to do was way overdue, and could only do him good. Now he hoped he could get through it without a complete breakdown.

Steve handed him a beer before sitting on the floor once more, and Mike was grateful that the younger man had realized that it was somehow easier to talk into the air than into a pair of caring eyes.

“How did they get you?” Steve asked quietly, knowing it would be easier to start Mike talking by asking him a question. He was shocked to hear a laughing snort from his partner. 

“I think I’m almost embarrassed about that. I guess I must have had something else on my mind,” Mike said pointedly and Steve realized he meant the impending testimony and sequestration, “ and I wasn’t as vigilant as I should have been. They got me as I got out of my car. All of a sudden there was a gun at the back of my head, they put tape over my mouth and a bag over my head and I was thrown into, I guess, a van. They pulled my sleeve up and I felt a needle in my arm…and the next thing I knew, I woke up in that…place…where you found me…”

His voice trailed off. Steve knew he was fighting the memories, so he just waited, allowing Mike to pull himself together, to continue at his own pace. The words would come; he just needed to be patient.

“I had no idea where I was…or even how much time had passed. All I had was my shirt and pants, no shoes, no socks. I had no idea what had happened to my jacket, my hat, my gun, my badge… It didn’t take long to realize there was no way out…or no way anybody could hear me, not even through that small opening with the shelf…

“Food would arrive, once a day it seemed to me but I had no way to tell. They’d taken my watch, of course, and with no windows, I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. I started to make marks on the wall whenever food arrived … counting the days, I guess it was, I was never sure… but as long as the food kept coming, I thought I always had a chance to get out of there alive…

“That food … I waited hours for it to arrive, and then I’d take my time with it… I even tried to hoard some in case it stopped coming, but there was never enough and I was always hungry. Water came in large milk jugs so there was always plenty of that… until towards the end… I knew that people die from lack of water faster than lack of food so I tried to save as much as I could…”

He stopped talking, and in the ensuing silence, his hand once more came to rest on his partner’s shoulder, as if finding strength in the physical contact.

“At first, I spent my time trying to find a way out, trying to dig through the floor or make a hole in a wall, but that became a waste of energy… then I began to just try to keep myself sane. I tried reciting every poem I remembered them drilling into me when I was a kid, every psalm and hymn I remembered, every song that Helen and I used to listen to, every story I ever told Jeannie, even our old cases…

“I did exercises to try to stay in shape but I started getting weaker, I was only getting one meal a day, so I had to give that up…. Then one day a newspaper was with the food – a newspaper, Steve!” There was genuine delight in his voice as he recalled the moment. “The Albuquerque Journal, March 15th… it was the greatest gift I think I’ve ever gotten. I didn’t have my glasses, of course, so there was quite a bit of it I couldn’t read, but I read everything I could, every single page. Over and over and over again…

“I just tried to hang on, in any way I could… I knew you’d be looking for me… “ His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve gave him a few moments to collect himself. Then he asked quietly, “What did you do when the power went out?”

Mike took a deep breath before he began again. “At first I hoped that it was only temporary, but it didn’t take long to figure out that it was going to be permanent. Luckily I’d spent enough time in there that I knew the place intimately, but I paced it out again in the dark, so I’d know exactly where everything was… and because it was so small and the walls were so thick, I could use, what do they call it, in bats? Echo-location… I would snap my fingers and use the echo to tell me how close I was to the wall… it became a game, actually, something to keep me from going crazy.

“I tried to make a game out of everything…it was the only way I could think of to stay sane. The daily food delivery took on a whole new challenge – I would always try to figure out what the food was by smell and by touch before I ate it… Anything…anything…to keep from going insane… But it got harder and harder…

“I was really afraid I was starting to lose my mind… I’d start crying for no reason… It took everything I had to pull myself together and I kept telling myself over and over again that you and Jeannie and the others would never stop looking for me, that it was only a matter of time… but you can’t do that forever… I knew that if I gave up, it would be the end… And then the food stopped coming…”

He paused and then, remarkably, Steve felt him relax, as if this unburdening was having the desired effect. He began to speak again, but this time his voice was almost inaudible.

“I wasn’t going to tell anybody this, and I don’t really know how to put it into words that won’t make it sound like I did lose my mind…but I needed something to hold onto that I hoped would help me survive no matter how long it was till you found me.”

Steve froze, trying not to breathe, trying not to break what he knew was a fragile connection, a confession that Mike needed to make.

“The darkness was so overwhelmingly oppressive, but as the time passed, I realized that more than the dark, it was the silence that was taking its toll. And even though I could make noise to fill it, it was always there, and the isolation was starting to get to me.

“I was grasping at straws, trying to find something, anything, that I could mentally hold on to that could help me get through this… I thought over and over again of all the people that were so important in my life. And that’s when it came to me – it was so perfect and so right and I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t thought of it before. Without sound and without light… it made perfect sense…”

He stopped, as if waiting. Carefully, slowly, Steve turned to him, his face a question. Mike just smiled at him. “What was it?” Steve asked quietly.

Mike’s smile widened. “Not what…who. An inspiration - a role model, if you will. I’ll give you a hint – the names of two of the most important people in my life.” Mike began to get up. “You’re the detective – you figure it out. I’m going to make us some coffee.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a baffled Steve sitting on the floor.

The percolator was almost finished perking when Steve walked into the kitchen, leaned against the counter beside his partner and folded his arms. Mike had mugs and spoons laid out on the counter, and was taking the milk from the fridge. He looked at the younger man with raised eyebrows. “Figured it out?”

Steve stared at him in bemused awe. “Helen…” he said slowly, “…Keller…”

As Mike grinned, Steve stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the older man. The hug was returned, and they stood in the kitchen gently swaying in the embrace for several long moments. “Oh my god,” Steve whispered into Mike’s ear and then pulled away. “I’m stunned,” he continued with a smile, “you never cease to amaze me.”

Mike’s grin was self-conscious, and he turned back to the counter and picked up the percolator. “I kinda surprised myself with that one,” he admitted with a slight chuckle as he poured the two cups of coffee. “But it worked,” he continued, “it gave me something to hold onto. If she could survive, and thrive, in a world of darkness and silence, then I could do the same.”

Steve raised his cup in a salute. “Thank god for Helen Keller,” he said in all seriousness, and Mike nodded in agreement.

Mike picked up the other cup and started back into the living room. He paused at the doorway and turned back. “Steve, I know earlier, when we first got here, I said when and if I decide to go back to work. Well, there’s no ‘if’ anymore.” At Steve’s concerned look, he continued quickly, “What I mean is, I’m coming back to work. It won’t be right away, but…I am coming back to work.”

Steve’s relieved grin told him all he needed to know. In easy camaraderie, they returned to the living room, but this time Mike sat beside his partner on the floor, both leaning against the couch, shoulders touching.

They continued to talk long into the night, answering each others questions, filling in details, learning more about their lives apart. The hours passed, the suns early glow appeared through the windows. Mike fell asleep first, his head on his partner’s shoulder. Steve sat quietly, happily, contentedly; his life was finally coming back together. Eventually his eyes grew heavy and his leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. Peaceful, dreamless sleep came quickly.


	17. Chapter 17

Steve glanced at his watch as he climbed the steep concrete steps. 7:32. Still plenty of time. He knocked on the heavy front door. “Come on in, Steve, it’s open!” he heard Jeannie call from within.

He entered and closed the door behind him. Dressed in a very eye-catching blue dress, she was slipping on an earring as she nodded for him to join her in the kitchen. Steve glanced around, not seeing Mike, as he followed, frowning.

“What’s going on? Where’s Mike? We’ve gotta be there –“

“He’s not coming,” she cut him off as she turned to face him.

“What? Why not?”

Obviously angry but trying to control it, she took a deep breath before answering.  
“He won’t tell me. Everything was fine until about an hour ago when he suddenly said he wasn’t going, went up to his room and shut the door. I haven’t seen him since.”

Leaning against the counter, Steve sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I kinda had a feeling this was going to happen. I’ll go talk to him.”

“What do you think it is this time?” she asked quietly as he turned to go.

He stopped and looked back, seeing the concern writ large on her beautiful young face. She had been through as much as he and Mike these past six months and she deserved his honesty.

“You’re still going back to Tucson the day after tomorrow?” She nodded. “Good. You need to, and he needs you to.”

She looked confused. “And that has something to do with tonight…?”

“It has everything to do with tonight. Physically, your Dad is almost a hundred percent back to normal, but he’s still a long way from the Mike Stone he was before all this started, and I know you know that… Having you here, looking after him, has been just what he’s needed these past few months, but if we want to get the old Mike Stone back, he’s gotta start being completely on his own again.”

She nodded. “I know he’s been, for lack of a better word, hiding since he got back…he hasn’t been making any effort to go into the office and see the guys; he hasn’t even talked about going back to work with you, at least not to me anyway.”

Steve smiled. 

“What?” she asked, unable to resist mirroring his look, knowing from his response that she had been left out of the loop, again.

“He’s, ah, he’s going back to work…we had a good long talk awhile ago, you remember that night he stayed over at my place?” She nodded again, smiling happily. “Well, a lot of bridges got crossed that night, and that was one of them. I guess he just didn’t feel he wanted to tell you yet, so…we aren’t having this conversation, right?” He smiled and winked.

Jeannie smiled then turned sober again. “But why do you think he didn’t want to tell me? I mean, I’m not naïve, Steve, I know there are lots of things he’s never told me, and I don’t expect him to, but still…”

“Well, I think it has a lot to do with what’s going on tonight. Look, let me go up and talk to him and see if I can change his mind.”

“Well, if you can’t, nobody can,” Jeannie said with a chuckle as he turned to leave the kitchen once again.

# # # # #

There was a light knock on the bedroom door. “Mike, it’s me, I’m coming in,” Steve called as he opened the door and stepped into the room. 

The curtains were closed and the lights were off. Mike was sitting on the small armchair in the corner in the dark. Steve hesitated only a fraction of a beat before snapping on the overhead light.

“Why aren’t you ready to go? We have to be there in about half an hour,” he started, choosing to pretend he was unaware of what had transpired between father and daughter.

Continuing to look straight ahead, Mike said quietly but firmly, “I’m not going. You and Jeannie go on ahead.”

“Why aren’t you going?” Steve asked, crossing the room to stand over the seated man.

“I don’t feel like it,” Mike said simply.

“That’s not a very good excuse,” Steve said lightly. “Aren’t you feeling very well?”

Mike hesitated before answering. “I feel fine.”

“That’s good. So,” Steve said slowly, “are you upset about something?”

Another hesitation. “No.”

“Then why don’t you want to come tonight?”

“I just don’t.”

Steve took a deep breath, still trying to keep the mood light. “I see. You do know I’m not just going to stand here and accept that as an excuse, don’t you?” He saw Mike freeze in anger, then deflate and close his eyes, letting his held breath out in a weary sigh.

With a gentle chuckle, Steve moved to sit on the corner of the bed, briefly touching Mike’s shoulder before doing so. The older man leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his clasped hands.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked quietly. “You’ve been doing great lately. And you even told me you were looking forward to tonight. What happened?”

Mike shook his head slowly, staring at nothing. “I just don’t think I’m ready for this…” he said softly.

Steve leaned forward a bit. “Why not?”

Still slowly shaking his head, Mike shrugged slightly.

With a sad, concerned sigh, Steve leaned forward even more. “Mike, I think you need this tonight, I really do. And I’ll tell you why. Physically, your recovery has been amazing and it’s been wonderful to watch. And I see you’ve got your ring back on,” he said with a chuckle, pointing at Mike’s left hand.

The older man dropped his hands away from his under his chin and looked at the gold band now back on his ring finger, smiling self-consciously.

Steve smile was warm and genuine. “That’s fabulous, you know that, right? That means you’re almost back to your goal weight.” He paused, and Mike finally met his eyes. He chose his next words carefully. “I’ve gotten you back physically; and now I want you back mentally and emotionally. I know it’s a much harder road than the one you’ve travelled already, but I promise you that I will be beside you every step of the way, no matter how long it takes or how difficult it becomes.”

Mike’s intense stare had softened, his eyes suddenly bright. He swallowed heavily.

“That’s why I think tonight is so important,” Steve continued gently. “There are a lot of people that haven’t seen you in almost six months, people you’ve worked side by side with for years. People who care about you a great deal more than you seem to realize. They just want to see you, Mike, to know that you’re okay and that you’re coming back. That’s all. That’s what tonight’s about.

“And you know what, it’s not even just that. Three new detectives got their gold shields recently and it’s about that too. Just a bunch of people who work together getting together away from ‘the office’, so to speak, to have a few drinks and some laughs and celebrate something good for a change, right?”

He knew his words were hitting their mark so he paused to let them sink in even more. He watched as Mike looked down, his demeanour changing from resistance to acquiescence.

Steve got up and walked to the closet, sliding the door open. Mike watched silently as the younger man stood back to examine the clothes hung neatly on the rack, then pull out a pair of black pants, a blue-and-white-striped dress shirt and a black-and-white herringbone jacket. As he crossed with them to the bed, he said, “Come on, let’s get you changed and downstairs. Jeannie’s waiting.”

# # # # #

With a white shawl over her bare shoulders, Jeannie stood at the foot of the stairs and watched with awe and quiet pride as the men in her life exited the bedroom and descended.

“Oh, my,” she said teasingly, “you both look so handsome. How can one girl get so lucky?” She put her arms around Mike’s neck as her father stepped off the last stair, whispering in his ear. “I’m so proud of you, Daddy.”

Mike returned the hug then pulled back, clearing his throat and glancing around nervously. “We better get going before we’re late,” he said quietly as he moved toward the door, leaving the two young people behind him to glance at each other with nonplussed smiles. Steve was still shaking his head in amusement as he locked the door behind them.

# # # # #

They all noticed the large number of cars parked on the street outside the Olsens, and the steady stream of partygoers walking towards the house. Steve pulled the tan sedan to the curb, glancing first at Jeannie in the front seat then into the rearview mirror at her father.

Jeannie opened her door and started to get out. Steve caught Mike’s eyes in the mirror. “You okay?” he asked quietly, and Mike nodded as Jeannie opened his door and he got out slowly. 

Mike looked at his daughter, a twinkle in his eyes. “I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look tonight, sweetheart.”

She grinned up at him, slipping her arm through his and pulling him closer. “Why, thank you, Mike. You look pretty darn good yourself,” she giggled, as Steve rounded the car to join them. She reached out with her free hand and snagged his jacket, drawing him to her as well, slipping her other arm around his and holding his hand. 

As they got closer to the house, Mike slowed down, coming to a halt at the curb. The others waited, knowing that Mike was calling the shots right now, and that – up to a point – they would play things his way tonight. He glanced at Steve then away. “Look, ah, could we maybe go in the back way, through the backyard? I just, ah, I don’t want to make an entrance, you know….”

“Mike - !” Jeannie began, exasperation evident in her tone, but Steve’s grip on her hand tightened and she stopped. 

“I think we can do that,” Steve said evenly and began to lead them around the left side of the house.

There were a lot of people in the backyard, standing around in small groups, drinks in hand, some smoking; the volume of their conversations was thunderous. There were a lot more revelers than Steve had anticipated, than Mike was prepared for, and the older man hesitated again.

Almost protectively, Steve took a step forward, half-blocking Mike from the crowd, allowing the older man time to regroup. But they didn’t have long.

“Steve!” boomed a voice over the noise of the crowd. “I was wondering when you were going to get here!” Norm Haseejian broke away from a bunch nearby and headed towards them, a beer bottle in one hand, cigar in the other. Grinning, the Armenian detective spread his arms wide as he crossed to the younger man, then stopped abruptly, his face going blank with shock. “Oh my god,” he said breathlessly, “Mike…”

With a nervous glance over his shoulder, Steve stepped away. Jeannie squeezed her father’s arm tighter. Mike’s eyes locked onto those of his sergeant, and very slowly a smile spread across his face. “Norm,” he said quietly.

Not taking his eyes off his boss, Haseejian thrust the beer and cigar in Steve’s direction. At first unsure what was being asked of him, with a chuckle Steve finally grabbed the items, as Haseejian took another step towards Mike, arms once more outstretched. He paused but when Mike pulled away from his daughter’s grasp, he stepped forward and gently enveloped the older man in a bear hug.

Haseejian’s eyes were closed, his smile gone, as he seemed to hang onto the older man for dear life. Tears sprang to Steve’s eyes as he watched, and he took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to cover this unanticipated rush of emotion. If the whole night was going to be like this, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through it, let alone Mike.


	18. Chapter 18

Realizing what he was doing, Haseejian released his hold on the older man and stepped back, suddenly contrite. He dropped his arms and his head. “I’m, ah, I’m sorry, Mike, it’s just…” His voice trailed away.

Mike’s eyes never left Haseejian’s face. His smile widened and his eyes shone with warmth. “Norm, it’s okay, really…it’s okay…”

Haseejian looked up, the smile returning. “You know, Rudy never told us you were gonna be here…it’s, ah, it’s just, ah…” He put his right hand over his heart and chuckled.

Mike glanced at Steve. “Rudy didn’t tell anyone…?” Steve shrugged and shook his head. Mike nodded to himself. “Good, good,” he murmured, and Steve could tell that that revelation was going to go a long way towards making this evening survivable. 

Reading the situation quickly, Haseejian brightened even more. “Look,” he said quickly, glancing around, “why don’t you guys stay here, I’ll get you some drinks, and you can just ease your way into tonight. How does that sound?” The partners exchanged a look and both nodded, both relaxing. After taking his beer and cigar back from Steve and acquiring their beverage requests, Haseejian turned to go, then turned back.

“Uhm, look, the guys, I know they’d really like to see you and I can’t be one hundred percent sure I’m not gonna let something slip, you know what I mean?” He grinned and Steve chuckled; Mike smiled and shook his head in bemusement. “Do you mind if I…?” He let the rest of the sentence hang.

Steve looked to his partner. With a gleam in his eye, Mike stared at the Armenian detective. “As long as nobody, and I mean nobody, makes a scene, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Grinning broadly, Haseejian snapped a rakish salute as he spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Jeannie slid closer to her father and took his arm once again. When he glanced down, her wide warm grin was all he needed to see. He met Steve’s stare with a relieved smile of his own, the tension beginning to drain away from all three.

# # # # #

One by one, with Haseejian acting as chaperone, the members of the San Francisco Police Department Homicide Division made their unsuspecting ways to the Olsen backyard, casually strolling to the rear of the garage. Their curiosity piqued, having been warned by their colleague to maintain some level of decorum, almost to a man they became speechless when their eyes fell on their superior officer.

Mike, who was now seated on a large wooden deck chair that Steve had dragged over and nursing a glass of California Riesling, greeted each one in the manner they wished – a brief hug, a handshake or, in a couple of instances, no contact at all.

With a cheeky comment about ‘Don Corleone greeting the guests at his daughters wedding’, and calling Haseejian ‘Consigliere’, a grinning Steve took Jeannie by the arm and they moved further into the backyard and eventually into the house. They were both now convinced, and relieved, that Mike seemed to have the situation well in hand and that, with Haseejian’s eager assistance, this - inevitably the hardest part of the evening - was going unbelievably well.

Steve and Jeannie had a tough time getting into the house, having to stop every few feet or so to greet someone, accept a compliment or answer a question. Jeannie looked at Steve with a wide grin and a giggle. “Do you think they all assume we’re a couple?” 

“Would you have a problem with that?” Steve chuckled and pulled her closer as they stepped over the threshold of the back door and entered the living room. Still grinning, obviously at peace with their place in the world tonight, the stunning young couple breezed into the room, almost bringing all conversation to an abrupt halt. 

Rudy Olsen spied them from the far side of the room and crossed quickly. “Steve, Jeannie,” he greeted them as he approached, giving the young woman an avuncular peck on the cheek, “I’m so glad to see you both.” He glanced around, frowning. “Didn’t Mike come with you?” he asked anxiously. 

Steve smiled, putting a hand lightly on Olsen’s forearm. “He’s here. He’s holding court behind your garage.” At Olsen’s confused stare, he continued with a laugh. “Norm caught sight of him when we arrived, and he’s become Mike’s major domo.” Steve leaned towards his boss and lowered his voice. “Mike’s a little…apprehensive about seeing everyone tonight. He wants to take it slow, and Norm’s turning out to be his perfect point man.”

It was Olsen’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah, I can see that,” he nodded with a grin. “You two circulate, I’m gonna go out and see Mike.” With a quick squeeze of Jeannie’s arm, he was gone.

Steve spied the buffet table. “Shall we?” he asked, and on her affirming nod, they crossed the room. He was putting some shrimp on a small plate when the man next to him bumped his arm hard and, it seemed, deliberately. “Whoa, easy,” Steve warned then looked up into the grinning face of Sergeant Burke. “Nick!” Steve put the plate down quickly and stuck out his right hand.

With a laugh, Burke grabbed Steve’s hand and pumped it once, then pulled the smaller man into a quick embrace. “It’s great to see you, Steve. It’s been quite a while. How are things going?”

“Great, great. Nick, you remember Mike’s daughter Jeannie, right?” Steve said, stepping back a bit as Jeannie joined them. She smiled up at the tall heavy-set sergeant.

“I sure do,” Burke said, extending his hand. “How are you, Jeannie? It’s so good to see you both. Look, ah, I haven’t seen either of you since you got Mike back – how’s he doing?”

“Well, he’s not back to work yet, but he’s doing really well,” she said.

“As a matter of fact,” added Steve, taking a step closer to Burke and lowering his voice, “he’s here tonight.” He saw Burke’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“Where?” Burke glanced around the room.

Steve nodded towards the backyard. “He’s outside, meeting up with some of the guys from the department. We’ll give him a little time to catch up and then I’ll take you over to him, okay?”

“Oh, you bet. You know, the other guys are all here somewhere – Luca, Donovan, Carter. I know they’d really like to see him too.”

“Of course.”

“He’s really doing okay?”

“He’s still a little… well, he’s not quite a hundred percent yet but he’s almost there. We hope to get him back to work soon,” Steve explained.

“Well, I’ll make sure Luca doesn’t squeeze the life out of him when he sees him,” Burke laughed. “He can be a little…ah...”

“Yeah, I remember,” Steve laughed warmly.

“I’m gonna go find the others. Wait’ll I tell ‘em,” Burke chuckled as he headed off. 

“It’ll be great to see those guys again,” Jeannie said warmly as she stood beside Steve at the buffet table, starting to fill two plates. At Steve’s questioning look, she giggled, “I’m making up a plate for Mike – maybe we can entice him to come into the house with food!”

# # # # # 

With Steve carrying their drinks and Jeannie balancing three small plates of hors d’oeuvres, the pair made their way back outside. As they got closer, they could hear roars of laughter coming from behind the garage and exchanged relieved and happy smiles.

Mike was still in the chair, Haseejian hovering nearby, but they had now been joined by virtually every member of Homicide and a few Robbery detectives, some standing, some leaning against the garage, the rest sitting on the lawn. Haseejian saw Steve and Jeannie first, and he leaned over and took Mike’s empty wineglass from his hand. “I’ll get you another drink, boss,” he said and started towards the house, slowing down when he got next to Steve to whisper sotto voce, “I have to go get something. Keep everyone here. I’ll be right back.”

As a puzzled Steve watched him head off, Jeannie crossed to her father and held out a plate. “The buffet is marvelous, you should come in and see.”

Mike smiled up his daughter as he took the plate. “Maybe later, sweetheart. Uhmmm, this looks good, thanks.”

Jeannie leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “Eat everything.” She chuckled as she straightened up, her eyes bright with joy. With two plates still in hand, she turned around to see that Steve had seated himself on the grass beside Dan Healey and he beckoned her over. 

As she got closer, Healey jumped to his feet. “Oh, for god’s sake, Steve, you can’t ask a lady to sit on the grass.” He turned to Jeannie. “Wait just a second,” he said quickly, “I’m gonna find you a chair.” And he sprinted off towards the deck, leaving everyone behind stunned and laughing.

Looking rather embarrassed, Jeannie stood beside Steve, who had gallantly risen to his feet. “Really, I can…sit…on the grass…” she said feebly to a quickly disappearing Healey. “I’ve done it before…”

“Who would of thought that Dan would turn out to be the gentleman?” laughed Tanner.

Steve glanced at Mike, who was taking all this in with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eye. Their gazes locked for a moment, a reaction that hadn’t happened for a very long time, and something deep inside both men told them they were almost home.

Healey, carrying a deck chair, and Haseejian, with a large plastic bag in hand, returned almost at the same time. “Get out of the way,” Healey ordered as he manhandled the chair to a spot beside Mike and dropped it with a groan. Straightening up, one hand on his lower back, he turned to Jeannie with a flourish.  
“Mademoiselle, your throne.”

As everyone laughed, a few more exuberantly than the others, and with her cheeks red with embarrassment, Jeannie crossed to the chair and sat, looking up at Healey as she did. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she said cordially.

Healey bowed slightly. “You’re most welcome,” he said formally as he moved back to his spot on the lawn and sat. Steve, trying not to smirk too obviously, crossed to Jeannie’s chair and sat on one arm, exchanging her drink for his plate.

When the laughter began to subside, Haseejian commanded everyone’s attention by loudly clearing his throat. He stood roughly in the centre of the circle that had unwittingly been formed, ostensibly facing Mike, but he began to talk by turning to his colleagues. 

“I, ah, I don’t want to make a big deal of this, but, ah, boss,” he turned to Mike, “when we all found out you were gonna be coming back to work, well, we decided that, you know, things around the office just wouldn’t be the same if you, you know, well, didn’t look like you.” He stopped himself, realizing he was not making any sense, and shrugged, shaking his head. A few of the guys chuckled.

“Okay,” he continued with a self-conscious laugh, “I’m not a great public speaker, it’s not what I do best.” He faced Mike again and his expression turned serious, gentle. “What I’m trying to say, boss, is we’re all thrilled you’re coming back to us, and we wanted to make sure that you look like you when you come back.” He held out the plastic bag.

With Steve and Jeannie watching him closely for any sign of anxiety, Mike, who had been staring at his sergeant with warm affection, tentatively took the bag and put it on the ground at his feet. With one more glance at Haseejian, who couldn’t repress his ear-to-ear grin, Mike opened the bag, looked in and froze, his smile disappearing instantly as he closed his eyes. No one said a word.

Everyone waited silently, some of them suddenly unsure that they had done the right thing. Then Mike started to smile and he opened his eyes and reached into the bag, pulling out a rather large black cardboard box with a red and gold symbol on the lid. He set the box on his lap and carefully opened it, laying the lid gently on the ground beside his chair. Then, trying to hide the trembling of his hands, he lovingly removed a steel grey fedora with a black band.

Steve, who had been watching with his heart in his mouth, reached out, gingerly removed the box from Mike’s lap and set it on the ground. He felt Jeannie’s hand slide into his and squeeze, but he didn’t dare look at her lest he lose whatever composure he had left.

As if not believing what he held in his hands, Mike turned the hat over, running his fingers lightly and lovingly around the brim. With practiced ease, he snapped the front brim down. “Put it on,” someone said quietly, and with a quick, self-conscious glance at the others, Mike raised the hat and set it on his head.

No one moved at first, then someone began to clap, but a fast, almost angry glare from Haseejian swiftly quashed that, and Steve shot him a grateful look. They both knew how close to the edge Mike was emotionally and neither of them wanted to push him any further.

Mike looked down, trying to pull himself together then raised his head with a smile. “I, ah, I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lee Lessing said gently, and the others nodded.

Mike nodded back, cleared his throat then looked once more at his colleagues. “So, ah, how did you know what size to get?”

“Oh,” said Healey from his position on the ground beside Tanner and Lessing, “well, we kinda have your daughter to thank for that.”

Mike turned to Jeannie, who grinned triumphantly and nodded at her father with raised eyebrows. “So you knew about this?” he asked her.

“Sort of,” she said cautiously. “I mean, they asked me so long ago, I really forgot about it until just now.”

“You?” Mike asked Steve, who threw up his hands and shook his head.

“I had no idea. Honest. I am as surprised as you are,” he chuckled.

Mike turned back to the others. “Well, thanks, fellas, you have no idea how much this means to me, you really don’t.”

“We’re just glad we could do something, even this small, to welcome you back,” said Haseejian with an earnest and heart-breaking honesty.

“This isn’t small, believe me,” said Mike emphatically, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

“Wow, that’s a sight I wasn’t expecting to see.” Olsen’s loud voice cut through the uneasy silence that had settled over the group. Everyone looked up at the captain, who was standing on the fringe of their circle with two men, in dark suits, that no one recognized.

Mike took the hat off and held it out. “The guys got it for me,” he explained, his voice still laced with awe.

“It’s exactly like your old one.”

Mike nodded, grinning. “Yeah.”

Olsen suddenly seemed to realize why he was standing there and he took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Ah, sorry about this everybody, but, ah, Mike, Steve, could I see you two alone…?”

Mike and Steve exchanged looks as they got up, then Steve glanced quickly at Jeannie, his expression telling her he had no idea what was going on. Olsen turned, starting to walk away as the partners fell into step behind him, they in turn followed by the two suits. Steve glanced nervously over his shoulder.

When they had reached a section of the yard where they could be alone, Olsen turned to the four men. “Lieutenant Mike Stone, Inspector Steve Keller, this is Special Agent Jerry Falcone and Special Agent Mark Landry from the FBI.”

“Nice to meet you gentlemen,” Falcone said as they shook hands. “Sorry to be spoiling your party, Captain Olsen, but I’m afraid our business can’t wait.” He turned to Mike and Steve. “Lieutenant, Inspector, could you come with us, please? Captain, I must ask that you remain here.”

With that, he turned on his heel and started towards the house. Mike and Steve exchanged another concerned look as they began to follow, Agent Landry behind them. Olsen watched them go, his frown deepening.


	19. Chapter 19

FBI Agent Falcone led the two detectives through the house towards the front door, with Agent Landry following. Heads turned as the four men made their way with studied deliberation through the living room. Peripherally, Steve noticed Burke, Ianello and Donovan standing near the buffet. Ianello took a step forward and opened his mouth to say something, stopping when Burke put a hand on his arm.

Falcone led them out the front door and down the walkway to the curb. A black limousine with tinted windows was parked across the street. The engine started, the lights were turned on and the sedan made a tight U-turn on the wide street and came to a stop beside them.

Falcone opened the back door. “Gentlemen,” he said, holding the door open. After a quick glance at his partner, Mike took off his hat and climbed into the back seat, Steve following. Falcone and Landry got in and sat on the seat facing the two detectives. As the door closed, the car pulled away from the curb, and Landry snapped on the dome light.

“What’s this all about?” Mike said finally.

Falcone smiled. “My apologies for all this, uh, cloak-and-dagger, Lieutenant, but it’ll all make sense soon.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time. My only request is that you don’t ask any questions just yet.”

Less then two minutes later, the limo slowed and stopped, and the engine shut off. As Landry snapped off the dome light and opened the back door, Falcone said, “If you gentlemen would just stay here…” and both agents exited the car, closing the door.

Steve looked at his partner, though he couldn’t really see him in the dark. “What the hell is going on?” was all he had time to say before the door opened once more and someone got in. With no illumination from outside the car and the dome light off, it was impossible to see who it was.

Steve felt Mike tense slightly, and then the dome light popped on. Both detectives started and sat back quickly and involuntarily. 

“Lieutenant Stone, Inspector Keller,” said the little man on the seat opposite, pulling the brown flat cap off his head and crushing it in both hands on his lap. “It’s, ah – wow, Lieutenant, you look, ah, you look so different – “

“John?” Mike’s voice was barely above a whisper. Steve’s grin was immediate and spontaneous. 

“You remember me?” John Martin asked, smiling happily.

“I course we remember,” Mike spoke for them both as they leaned towards Martin, and he laid his own hat on the seat beside him. Martin stuck his right hand out and Mike enveloped it in both his own. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” he said quietly, grinning, his eyes suddenly bright.

Steve glanced at his partner then back at Martin. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, John, and we’re thrilled to see you, but why are you here?” he asked with a chuckle.

Martin removed his hand from Mike’s grasp and sat back slightly, embarrassed. “Um, well, these guys are taking me somewhere…I don’ know where. They’ve given me a new name and I have a new birth certificate and a Social Security Card and everything. We flew outa Albuquerque this afternoon and came here, and now we’re gonna take a plane somewhere else.”

He looked down shyly, looking for all the world like an embarrassed ten-year-old.  
“They said that nobody from my old life would see me again, that I was gonna become this new person with this new life. They asked me if there was someone I wanted to see before all that happened…” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I ain’ got nobody in my life and I never had. But for the all these past months, what happened in Albuquerque, well, that was very important to me….” His voice trailed off and an uneasy silence filled the car.

Mike put a hand on Martin’s forearm, forcing the little man to look up into his eyes.  
“What happened in Albuquerque was very important to a lot of people, especially me. I’m sitting here today because of you.” Martin began to smile, relieved. “I’m very happy, and very proud, that you asked to see us today. It means a lot to me that you’ve done this.”

“It’s means a lot to me too,” Steve added quietly. 

Grinning once more, his confidence restored, Martin leaned closer to them and spoke in a whisper, eyes wide. “Once we leave here, they said they’re gonna turn me over to the U.S. Marshalls.” He sounded impressed. “They won’t tell me where we’re going – I don’t think they’ll tell me till we get there.”

Trying not to laugh at the older man’s endearing guilelessness, Steve managed to maintain a straight face as he nodded. Peripherally, he could see Mike was having just as much trouble.

“So what have you been doing in Albuquerque all this time?” Mike asked. 

“Well, I stayed in a bunch a motels – they kept movin’ me around, you know, so’s nobody would find out where I was, I guess. An’ they asked me over and over again about those three months…sheesh, I thought they’d never stop. I told them everythin’ I could remember but three months or so, that’s a long time and my brain don’ work too good ‘cause a all the drinkin’ I done over the years. But I told ‘em what I remembered. I think I helped ‘em…” he finished softly, looking hopeful.

“I’m sure you did,” Mike said encouragingly.

Martin studied the older cop. “Lieutenant, I have to say – “

“Mike. John, please, call me Mike.”

“Okay…Mike…I just have to say, you’re lookin’, wow, um, a helluva lot different from the last time I saw you. You look good,” he grinned and laughed.

“I feel good, John, I really do. Steve here, and my daughter, they’ve been taking really good care of me for the past few months.”

“I can see that,” said Martin, glancing at Steve with appreciation in his gaze. “So things have really been good for you, hunh? Since, uh, since…” his voice trailed off.

Mike smiled. “Since you saved my life?” he finished then nodded, his smile widening. “Things have been wonderful. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

“Naw, you don’t have to –“

There was a brief knock on the car window and all three reflexively looked in that direction. The door opened and Falcone leaned in. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we have to wrap this up. Mr. Martin has a plane to catch.”

Martin glanced back at Mike and Steve, shrugging as he put his cap back on. As he began to slide across the seat towards the door, Mike put out a hand to stop him. “One second,” he said to Falcone, then turned to Martin. “John, if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, you get these guys to put you in touch with me. I know they can do that. Do you hear me?” He was looking deep into the smaller man’s eyes.

Martin returned the stare with an embarrassed smile and a nod. As he got out of the car, he turned and leaned back in. “I ain’t never done too many good things in my life, but saving you, that was the best thing I coulda ever done.”

Noticing that Mike was suddenly speechless, Steve leaned towards Martin to shake his hand. “You take care of yourself, John, and thank you again for all you’ve done for us.”

“You guys take care too.” Martin was led away as Falcone and Landry slid back into the limo and closed the door.

The two detectives sat back as the car was started and pulled away from the curb.  
Falcone let the silence settle for several seconds. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have stayed longer, but we don’t control the airlines.” He sounded apologetic.

Mike looked at him and smiled. “That’s quite alright, Agent Falcone. It was still very special. Thank you for setting this all up.”

“Oh, it wasn’t us,” Falcone said with a chuckle. “You can thank your captain for that.”

Mike and Steve glanced at each other. “Captain Olsen?” Mike asked.

“Yeah,” Falcone nodded. “The guy whose house we’re going back to right now…” he finished lamely with a vague gesture towards the front of the car.

Mike looked at Steve again, his eyes a question. The younger man shook his head. “Mike, I had no idea, honest to god.” Mike knew he was telling the truth; his surprised reaction to Martin’s sudden appearance was genuine.

“Hunh, I need to have a talk with Rudy,” Mike said quietly, and the others chuckled at the thinly veiled threat in his tone.

Landry, who had remained taciturn throughout, cleared his throat. “Um, Lieutenant, Inspector, we’ve been working on, ah, this case for quite awhile now. We’re aware of everything that happened in Albuquerque, and here.” He glanced at Steve and paused, then looked once more at Mike. “I just want to say, Lieutenant, how honoured I am to have finally met you. You’ve, um, become almost legendary in the New Mexico Field Office, sir.”

Embarrassed, Mike cleared his throat, looking down. “Well, I don’t know about legendary, Agent Landry, but I had a lot to live for,” the agents noticed his quick glance in Steve’s direction, “and a lot to come home to. And I was incredibly lucky to have someone like John Martin in my corner, so to speak. I didn’t do it alone.”

Falcone nodded soberly. “Understood, sir. We’ll take very good care of him.” All four men smiled. “And, when we get enough information to put Cassidy on trial for kidnapping, forcible confinement and attempted murder, Martin has agreed to testify ‘in camera’. So, you just might be seeing him again sometime in the future.”

The limo pulled to a halt. “This is your stop, gentlemen,” Falcone said to the detectives with a grin, as Landry opened the door. He leaned forward to shake their hands. “It’s been our pleasure, Lieutenant, Inspector. Enjoy the party…and the rest of your lives.”

# # # # #

The detectives stood on the curb watching the black limousine drive away. As it disappeared around a distant corner, Mike finally turned to his companion. Frowning, he asked in a voice steeped in uncertainty, “Did that really just happen?”

Nodding, still looking at the point where the limo had vanished, Steve grunted in the affirmative. Then he snorted with laughter.

Mike turned to him with upraised eyebrows. “What?”

“John Martin is a wonderful man and I am so grateful he did what he did, but, my god, every time he says Albuquerque, I think of Bugs Bunny.”

Mike started to laugh, shaking his head. After several seconds, trying not to chuckle, he said, “You really know how to kill a mood, you know that?”

A comfortable silence settled over them and they stared at each other with warm affection. The first to blink, Steve looked away and shook his head. He slapped Mike on the back and ran his hand up to Mike’s shoulder and squeezed. 

Mike sighed happily and nodded over his shoulder towards the house. “Shall we go back in? There’s a lot of people I haven’t said ‘hello’ to yet.”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat hearing that, the confirmation that this night was indeed going exactly as he had hoped. He shifted uneasily and thrust both hands in his pants pockets. Not trusting his voice, he just nodded.

As they started off, Mike put his fedora back on, chuckling. “I guess there’s no point trying to sneak in the back again, hunh? I mean, not after we were paraded through the living room by two oh-so-obvious federal agents.”

“No, there was nothing subtle about that.”

“Nope. So we’re gonna have to come up with a ‘cover story’, you know?” Mike said with a snicker, continuing the banter they were both beginning to revel in. “And we better come up with it before we get to the door.”

“Uhm-hunh.” Steve took his hands out of his pants pockets as they got closer to the to front porch. “Al-bu-qwerk-ee.”

“Would you cut that out!”


	20. Chapter 20

Concerned and worried, Jeannie was waiting near the front door. Surprised to see them smiling as they re-entered the house, she crossed quickly to her father and took his arm. “Mike, what was that all about?”

He looked down at her with an enigmatic smile. “Ah, they were from the FBI. They just needed to talk to us about the case, that’s all.” 

Steve thought Mike sounded convincing and nodded his approval, which looked to Jeannie like affirmation.

“Does the FBI always go around so suspiciously? Sheesh, it looked like you two were under arrest!”

“Well, they can be a little melodramatic sometimes,” Steve offered, trying not to laugh. He cut a glance at his partner and Mike took his cue.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you show me where that wonderful buffet is? I’m starving.”

As Jeannie began to lead her father away, Steve looked around. All eyes seemed to be on Mike, something thankfully he hadn’t seemed to notice, but people were keeping their distance. He noticed that their colleagues were fanned out around the room, and seemed to have spread the word that Mike should be given space and time. And so far, it seemed, everyone was complying.

Relaxing, Steve strolled over to Burke and Ianello, who were huddled in a corner. Steve and Ianello shook hands and traded salutations before Burke asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

It was all Steve could do not to roll his eyes and sigh. It was suddenly going to be a long night of evasion, he thought.

# # # # #

Steve looked down at his watch, having to turn his wrist to catch the light from the house to see the dial. He chuckled to himself. 5:17. He looked back over his shoulder at the chair he was leaning against. Mike, a beer bottle in one hand, was leaning far to his right, deeply engaged in a conversation with Luca Ianello and Matthew Donovan. 

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle. The night has just gotten better and better. When they returned to the house after their brief meeting with John Martin, Mike’s entire attitude seemed to change. With Jeannie at his side and Steve hovering close by, he made the rounds, greeting everyone he knew and spending time with those that needed or wanted more of his attention.

Jeannie had taken a cab home around two, but Mike showed no sign of wanting to leave. He was thriving on this newfound confidence. Inspired, Steve pulled Lessing and Olsen aside and hatched a plan that he hoped he would be able to implement.

Now, with a self-satisfied smile, he took a sip from his beer, uncrossing and stretching his legs. He’d been sitting on the ground in front of Mike’s chair for so long he was beginning to get a little stiff.

“You’re looking pleased with yourself,” came a voice from above, and he looked up as Danny Segal sank to the ground beside him. They clinked bottles after Segal got settled. 

Nodding over his shoulder, Steve leaned closer. “I’m just marveling at the fact we’re still here and he’s still talking,” he chuckled.

With a quiet laugh, Segal glanced in Mike’s direction. “It’s been a pretty special night, hasn’t it? You know, I didn’t think he was gonna be here tonight, and to get to see him again…wow.” He paused. “You know, the last time you and I talked…” He let the rest of the sentence hang.

“Oh, I know,” said Steve, “I remember it well. It was just after that that we got him back.” He looked at Segal with baffled wonder. “These past seven months have been…I don’t know… surreal? But I finally think it’s over, I really do.”

Segal grinned and nodded.

“Hey,” Steve said suddenly, holding out his bottle for Segal to clink again, “I almost forgot to congratulate you for finally getting your shield. Let’s have a look at it.”

Chuckling, Segal reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out a brand new leather case and flipped it open to reveal the shiny gold star. He couldn’t hide his proud smile.

“Nice, nice,” said Steve, “well deserved, man, well deserved.”

They sat on the Olsen lawn, surrounded by colleagues, catching up on each other’s lives. Steve kept an eye on his watch. Closer to six, he excused himself and got to his feet, turning to Mike, who was still engaged in conversation with the two sergeants and, surprisingly, still wide awake.

“Ah, I hate to break this up, guys, but, ah, Mike, we gotta go.”

Mike looked at his watch but couldn’t see it in the dim light. “What time is it?”

“Close to six.”

“Are you serious?” He looked around in amazement. “Why is everybody still here?” he asked with a laugh. He got slowly to his feet.

Goodbyes were made, and the Olsens were thanked for their hospitality as everyone gravitated towards the front door. Concerned, Mike took Steve’s arm and pulled him aside. “I don’t think either of us is capable of driving, buddy boy…” he began, but Steve cut him off with a smile.

“Don’t worry. Lee’s been drinking club soda for the past four hours. He’s gonna drive us home. But, ah, we have to make another stop on the way. Are you up for it?”

It had been an exceptionally good night for Mike and he was feeling better than he had in months. He was very tired, but didn’t want the night, and this feeling, to end. Unsure of what he was getting himself into, he nodded, smiling warily but warmly “Sure.”

Steve smiled back. “Alright, let’s go.”

The partners stepped off the porch and started down the walkway. The tan sedan was parked at the curb immediately in front of the house. As they got closer, the driver’s door opened and Lee Lessing got out, then opened the back door. When Mike and Steve approached, he nodded with a smile and executed a slight bow. “Lieutenant.” 

Mike stopped, a little taken aback, and looked at Steve, who with a smug smile jogged around the car and opened the other back door. With raised eyebrows and a nod, he got into the car and slammed the door.

With one more confused look at Lessing, who just smiled tactfully, Mike got into the back seat and Lessing closed the door. Mike looked suspiciously at his partner. “What’s going on?” he asked as Lessing got behind the wheel, started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“You’ll see,” Steve replied noncommittally, not making eye contact. “Just sit back and relax.”

With another frown, Mike did as told, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. For the first time in a long, long while he felt completely at ease and comfortably secure. It was a state of mind he thought he would never experience again.

As the car slid effortlessly through the empty streets, Steve looked across the seat and smiled happily. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Lessing smiling back at him.

With no traffic to contend with, the trip from Pacific Heights to the bridge was made in mere minutes, and as the car made it’s way from 101 onto the span itself, Mike opened his eyes slightly. He knew instantly where they were and where they were going and, with a warm contented smile, closed his eyes again.

Eventually the car made a left-hand turn, passing a sign reading ‘Battery Spencer’, and continued along for a bit before pulling to a stop. Lessing got out and closed the door. Mike opened his eyes and raised his head, turning to Steve and smiling self-consciously. With a grin and a chuckle, Steve slapped his partner’s leg then nodded at the door behind him. “Come on,” he said encouragingly.

They both got out. Lessing had opened the trunk and was waiting behind the car. Without a word, he handed Steve two large paper bags with handles and closed the trunk.

Steve looked at Mike, who was waiting silently. Steve nodded ahead of them and began to walk away from the car, and Mike obediently followed.

As they walked in the dark away from the parking lot, the vista slowly came into view. Steve could sense Mike slowing down behind him, and he eased his pace as well, smiling happily to himself, knowing that this was the exact right thing at the exact right moment.

He came to a stop and put the two bags down, glancing quickly back at the older man, who had also come to a halt, staring at the panorama before them. With a quiet chuckle, Steve took a heavy blanket out of one bag and spread it on the ground. “Here, have a seat,” he said, as he kneeled on the blanket and took two lighter ones out of the same bag.

With an almost melancholy smile, Mike crossed to the blanket and sat, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes from the view.

Grinning happily to himself, Steve turned away and carefully and quietly began to remove the contents of the second bag. He glanced up, pleased to see the first rays of the morning sun beginning to colour the horizon. The timing had been perfect.

Everything ready, he leaned back on his elbows and stared at the spectacle before them. He glanced over his shoulder at Mike, who was staring straight ahead, tears brightening his eyes, and smiled warmly.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, not moving. Then, the chill of the night beginning to penetrate his lightweight clothes, Steve sat up and picked up one of the lighter blankets. Standing, he shook out the blanket and crossed behind Mike, gently dropping it over the older man’s shoulders. Mike didn’t move.

Steve sat back down and turned away, tossing the other blanket over his own shoulders. With another glance at the horizon, which was becoming lighter by the minute, he swiveled where he sat and extended his right hand. “Here,” he said.

Mike started slightly and turned towards him, eyebrows rising in surprise. Almost hesitantly, he reached out and took the champagne flute from Steve’s hand.

With a wide grin, the younger man reached behind himself and picked up a champagne bottle. Not taking his eyes from Mike’s, he grasped the cork and turned the bottle, and the cork slipped from the bottle with a soft, pleasing pop. He tossed the cork over his shoulder and picked up his own flute, pouring the bubbly liquid into both glasses.

He carefully set the bottle down and repositioned himself on the blanket so that he and Mike were side by side. He turned to look at the view before them, Mike following his stare. The sun was just cresting the horizon over the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge and the lights of their beloved City, a sight that never ceased to enthrall or awe.

With a smile wider than the view itself, Steve turned to his partner and held out his glass. His heart in his throat and tears in his eyes, Mike met his partner’s stare, raising his own glass. When the flutes clinked, Steve’s grin faltered as he felt his composure begin to slip. He took a deep steadying breath then, with immeasurable affection, whispered, “Welcome home.”


	21. Chapter 21

Coda One

Reading glasses on the end of his nose, he was sitting in a back booth, smoking and drinking scotch, making entries in a black notebook with his trademark fountain pen, under the dim light from the fixture suspended over the table.

Not taking his eyes from the page, he reached out with his left hand, picked the cigarette up off the ashtray, flicked it with his ring finger to knock off the ash that had accumulated, and brought the smoke to his lips. He took a long drag and held it, returning the cigarette to its resting place. 

He was just about to exhale when something landed on the table in front of him and he jumped, startled, then began to cough.

He heard an evil chuckle and the sound of the other chair being pulled out from under the table. Continuing to cough, his eyes traveled from the unexpected sight of a gray fedora on the table to the grinning visage of Mike Stone as he dropped into the second chair.

“I told you those things’re gonna kill you,” Mike laughed as he pointed vaguely in the direction of the ashtray and moved his hat to the edge of the table, settling comfortably into the chair.

Phil Driscoll’s initial angry glare transformed slowly into a warm and welcoming smile and, continuing to stare at his newly arrived companion, reached towards the ashtray once more, but this time picking up the cigarette and stubbing it out. He took off his reading glasses and tossed them on the table. “How did you know where to find me?” he asked.

Mike chuckled again. “Are you kidding? You’re always here. I didn’t have to be a detective to figure that one out.”

“True enough. So, I hear you’re back at work.”

Mike nodded once. “Yep, been back for a couple of weeks now.”

“How does it feel?”

Mike didn’t answer at first, and Driscoll could see a brief faraway look in his eyes. “Good,” he said quietly, “really good. There was awhile there when I thought that might never happen, so…”

“I bet,” Driscoll replied, equally softly.

Mike cleared his throat and seemed to come back to the present. “So, ah, we both know why I’m here but before we get to that…” He paused and looked down at the table, trying to marshal his thoughts, make sure the words he was about to use were the right ones.

“Steve told me what you did for him –“ Mike could see Driscoll begin to shake his head in denial but he plowed on “- and I want to thank you, first and foremost, for being there for him. It’s not often that he needs someone, or to be more precise, it’s not often that he admits that he needs someone, and usually that someone’s been me.” He looked down, running his fingertips along the edge of the table.

Driscoll’s headshake had turned into a slow nod, the smile now gone. After a few seconds of silence, he ventured, “You know, that young man doesn’t just love you, Mike, he worships you.” He watched the detective nod slightly, his eyes still down, and inhale deeply.

“It’s, ah, it’s mutual,” Mike said quietly, and looked up with a tiny embarrassed smile. “He’s an exceptional young man and I’m very proud that he’s part of my life. Now more than ever.”

“He never gave up, not for one second. I think that’s what got to me the most. His relentlessness. He wasn’t going to give up on you, even if everyone else was beginning to lose hope.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Mike smiled. “Well, I, for one, am glad he didn’t,” he laughed softly, then slapped both hands lightly on the table. “So, Steve told me what he said he promised you –“

“Mike - “ Leaning forward, Driscoll tried to interrupt but a quick tilt of Mike’s head and a glare shut him up.

“- and I’m here to help him fulfill that promise. So you can relax.” Mike watched as Driscoll slowly sat back and a smile transform his weathered features. They held each others stare for several long seconds, then Mike nodded slowly and grinned.

“But,” Mike said pointedly, “I have to ask a favour from you, before we get started.”

“What’s that?”

Mike started to speak then stopped himself, thought for a second, then started again. “It’s still a little too soon. And I’m not just talking about me, about what I’m still dealing with… There are lives that are still at stake in all this, there’s an on-going FBI investigation that can’t be compromised…”

Driscoll hadn’t moved so Mike continued. “Phil, you have my word, you and I will sit down at some point and no matter how long it takes, I will tell you everything I remember and answer every question you ask, but…just not now, all right?”

Mike waited while Driscoll seemed to consider this stipulation. Then the reporter nodded slowly and smiled. “I understand, but can you give me a ballpark in all this, just so, ya know, I have some kind of idea…?”

Mike shook his head, shrugging slightly. “A year? Maybe sooner, but…probably closer to a year…”

Driscoll stayed quiet for several seconds, then he nodded again. Looking Mike straight in the eyes, he held out his right hand. “I can wait a year.”

Smiling, relieved, Mike shook hands warmly. “Thanks, Phil. I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

Shutting his notebook and putting the pen in his pocket, Driscoll seemed to shake himself and looked around, raising his right hand and snapping his fingers. “Jeez, Mike, I’m a lousy host, I never even asked if you want a drink.”

Mike shook his head. “No, thanks, Phil, I better –“ He glanced at his watch. “Ah, what the hell, I’m off the clock. I’ll have one – a beer.”

“Great.” Driscoll, who had caught the bartender’s attention, held up two fingers and nodded. He turned back to his table companion. “Okay, so, I know the ground rules, but can I ask you a couple of questions right now? Just a couple of things that have been bothering me. You don’t have to answer –“

Mike held up a hand and chuckled. “It’s okay, Phil, ask me, and if I think I want to answer you right now, I will, okay?”

“Thanks.” Driscoll waited while the bartender set the two beers and two glasses on the table. As he poured his own, he asked, “Why do you think Cassidy didn’t have you killed outright, or after the trial was over?”

Mike was pouring his own beer and he snorted humorlessly. “You know, I’ve been giving that a lot of thought over the past few months, you have no idea.”

“And have you come to any conclusions?”

Mike took a sip of his beer before answering. “I have, actually. And, as bizarre as it may sound, I don’t think Cassidy is capable of it, and I’ll tell you why. We went as far back as we could go investigating him and his…henchmen…over the years, and nowhere, absolutely nowhere, could we link him or anyone directly under him to any murders anywhere at anytime.

“Contrary to what everyone seems to think, murder is just not his pattern, it’s not what he does. And that’s what made what he did in that alley, that uncontrolled act of rage that Steve witnessed, so out of character for him; he had never done it before and probably would never do it again. So, ironically, I have Cassidy to blame for putting me in that situation, but I also have Cassidy…and someone else you’ll find out about later…to thank for me still being here.” Mike shook his head in wonder and took another sip of beer. “Of course, all that being said, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be alone in a room with him for five minutes,” he chuckled dryly but there was a menacing edge to his voice that sent a chill down Driscoll’s spine.

The reporter smiled wryly as he picked up his own beer. “Or Steve,” he said, lifting the bottle in a salute to the absent partner.

Mike froze, eyeing Driscoll with renewed appreciation, then he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Driscoll looked down at the table, then asked hesitantly. “Why do you think you survived? From what I’ve heard – and believe me, it hasn’t been much – it was pretty horrific and you were close to the edge…”

It was Mike’s turn to look down, and as the silent seconds passed, he leaned back, his stare turned inward and he once more absently ran his fingertips along the edge of the table. A wistful smile began to appear on his lips, and when he finally looked up at Driscoll, his eyes were soft and warm. “I couldn’t let my parents down,” he said with a gentle smile.

“They were two people who went through a lot of…adversity…in their lives. They both came from war-torn countries and emigrated here not knowing the language, raised two sons during the Depression, lost one son in World War Two. And…well, even though my Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, I’ve spent my life trying never to disappoint him.

“If I had given up… well, let’s just say, that would have been the ultimate disappointment in my father’s eyes, and I couldn’t let that happen.” Mike stopped, looked up at Driscoll self-consciously, then added with a chuckle, “Besides, I have a daughter and a partner that I needed to live for as well. That was pretty good motivation too… And I couldn’t let Cassidy win.”

Driscoll laughed. “Listen, I don’t have anywhere to go tonight and I’m thinking you really don’t either… Dinner’s on me, okay?”

Mike looked at the grizzled reporter noncommittally then he smiled. “Sure, why not?”

# # # # # 

Six months later, Philip Driscoll was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and given less than a year to live. True to his word, Mike Stone took a week’s leave and spent hours with the dying reporter, answering every question posed to him, offering insights and speculations, opening up to him as he hadn’t to anyone else, including his partner.

Steve Keller spent time with Driscoll as well, filling in the blanks, adding his own perspective on the ordeal, coming to terms with his own role in the story of their lives.

Seven months after his diagnosis, Philip Arthur Driscoll lost his battle. Mike and Steve served as pallbearers at a service attended by hundreds who had come out to pay tribute to a true son of San Francisco, a journeyman reporter who had served his city and his readers very, very well.

As hard as he tried, he was unable to complete his account of the nightmare that Mike Stone survived and what could have possibly been the greatest reportorial achievement of his life never saw the light of day.


	22. Chapter 22

Coda Two

Mike Stone was sitting in the passenger side of the tan LTD. He glanced at his watch then looked once more through the windshield at his partner.

Steve Keller was engaged in an animated conversation with a young, dark-haired man in a SFFD uniform who had intercepted him on the way to the car. As Mike watched, Steve laughed and shook the other man’s hand vigorously. They exchanged a few more words then, as Steve turned towards his car, slapped the firefighter on the arm and, continuing to laugh, crossed to the driver’s door and got in.

“What was that all about?” Mike asked affably as the younger man settled in behind the wheel.

Grinning, Steve reached into his inside jacket pocket and took something out, tossing it onto the seat close to his partner. 

Mike looked down then laughed delightedly as his eyes fell on the small colour photograph lying on the seat. He picked it up and looked at it, then took out his reading glasses to study it more closely. “I’ve never seen this before. That’s a great shot – of both of us.” He looked across the seat. “Where did you get this?”

Steve nodded toward the windshield as he started the car and shifted into reverse, turning to look out the back window. “From him.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Mike said with a chuckle, “when and why?”

Steve straightened the car out and they moved through the parking lot towards the street. He hesitated slightly before answering. “Ah, right before the trial resumed, I found an envelope under the windshield of my Porsche. This photo was in it, and a note. It said, ‘I thought you might like this,’ and it was signed, ‘A friend’.”

“And you had no idea where it came from or who gave it to you?”

“Not a clue. And no one came forward to tell me either.”

Mike let this settle for a second, then he nodded towards the windshield. “And it was him?” At Steve’s nod, he continued, “You know him?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t – at least I didn’t, but he just told me he had taken this shot of a bunch of us one day when we were all just out in the parking lot shooting the breeze. He had just joined the force and he was a little awe-struck by everyone and everything and he was a camera buff…”

Mike looked at the photo again, smiling at the obvious joy on both their faces.

“Wow,” he said quietly, “that was a pretty nice thing for him to do, don’t you think?”

Steve looked across the front seat and smiled affectionately. “Yeah, I do,” he answered equally softly.

“So who is that guy? You said he joined the force, but he’s a firefighter now?” Mike asked, taking off his glasses and putting them back in his inside jacket pocket but keeping ahold of the photo.

“Yeah. Well, from the brief conversation I just had with him, I think he’s gonna be someone to keep an eye on.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, he’s a vet, he joined the force after he got back but decided he wanted to be a firefighter instead, but now he thinks he might go into city politics. He’s thinking of running for City Supervisor in the next election.”

“Wow, ambitious guy. City politics? Is he a masochist?” Mike asked with a chuckle as he laid the photo back on the seat between them. “What’s his name?”

“Dan White.”


End file.
